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Side Story #12: Toshio's Guard Duty
🕑 Added 2019-07-07 17:38:51 +0000 UTC<Author’s note: This story takes place before the events of Book 1.>
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Side Story 12: Toshio’s Guard Duty
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■■ Yamato ■■
Toshio was in a poor mood this morning. For starters, he had only just managed to put on his Hyugan makeup before a servant came running down the hall screaming bloody murder. Literally—there was a death among the Shinsengumi, or rather, one of their wives. Sadao Hamasaki had taken the life of his wife, Kanae.
“Hardly a murder mystery,” the shinobi grumbled as he made his way to the Hamasaki residence. It was the crack of dawn, but even still he had to force himself through a mob of samurai stirred up by the commotion. Though usually he was more subtle, this morning Toshio shoved, elbowed and otherwise removed those in his path. Before they could respond in kind, the infamous ‘Heartless Hound’ gave them a glare.
It wasn’t long before even the most veteran samurai gave the ninja a wide berth.
Solving mysteries was Toshio’s favorite pastime, yet this was an open-and-shut case that would be nothing more than paperwork to delay his usual morning tea with Satsuma-sama. He enjoyed briefing the Emperor on the day’s activities, the first of today’s being a breakfast with Shibuya & Sons: a company of shipwrights out of Jijinto with a revolutionary new ship design.
An armored warship was likely a farce or a scam, or at best a promise that was impossible to keep—regardless, Toshio wanted to brief the Emperor beforehand. Instead, he had to deal with a scandal within the Shinsengumi. It wasn’t a matter he could ignore; they were the royal guard and therefore, their actions reflected upon their master. And their master happened to be the same as Toshio’s.
“He was a new recruit—told you this batch was no good!”
“Rumors were, she was sleepin’ around.”
“Everyone knew he was a bit off, but no one expected this.”
A trio of men in bright-blue haori jackets with white mountain trim argued in front of the gruesome scene. They were no strangers to bloodshed, and were among the top swordsmen in the land. But swordsmanship didn’t carry over much to detective work. Toshio made his presence known with a cough.
“No signs of breaking and entering. Nor is there any alcohol on the premise nor damage to the furniture,” Toshio observed. “It would seem to be a domestic dispute, as everyone has already guessed. What I want to know is why—if Sadao was so unstable—no one deemed it necessary to report him?!”
“We figured it was stress,” said one of them. “He was a new member, recently accepted after his training with some shugenja at the Academy. Not every man can handle the responsibility of—”
Toshio held out a hand. He knew the name sounded familiar. The culprit was the samurai who had been paired with Masashi Hashimoto; with his magic he was able to read into the Emperor’s mind during a visit just two weeks prior. Such a powerful artifact had potential for great good, Toshio imagined.
“And great evil,” Toshio shook his head at the corpse of Kanae. She had an ‘X’ cut deep into her stomach, and worst of all...she had been pregnant. Toshio hung his head in shame. “I cannot believe that for a moment I considered Sadao a possible candidate. This is not the work of The Sword Who Cuts the Heavens.”
“Masashi Hashimoto,” Toshio spoke, “is the shugenja at the Academy who was tasked with the creation of Sadao’s artifact. Send a group to him and find out if he is able to track the object’s location.”
“You don’t get to boss us around! No lowly ninja is going to tell us how to do our job!”
Toshio ignored the outburst and examined the walls. “Kabuki masks and posters...it would seem Sadao is a fan of theater. I would keep tabs on traveling troupes in case he reveals himself. Now if that’s all—I’ll take my leave.”
The ninja gave the curtest of bows before making for the exit, though in the entrance way was the captain of the Shinsengumi himself, Hijikata Toshizō. He was not a large man nor did he have a powerful frame, but his presence instilled a sense of respect that made Toshio’s feet stop and his back straighten.
“This imperfection sullies our reputation. It is a matter we will conduct with our own discretion. Your input is appreciated, Toshio-san, but do not overstep your bounds. You have a gift of observation, but you do not seem to realize how your words affect others. Consider this both a warning and a piece of advice.”
Toshio didn’t understand the captain, though bowed and thanked him all the same. He had to hurry—the breakfast meeting was about to begin.
It was taking place on the castle’s East-facing veranda. An outside porch was hardly the most secure location, but it was a cool summer’s day and offered a generous view of the ocean. It also, however, faced the Kondo ghettos. The dilapidated slums were nothing but an eyesore to the nobility, though today—Toshio realized—it would be more than that. The ninja scolded himself for forgetting that today on the Wasure Rareta’s calendar marked the celebration of the hunt.
“Ko KoOo-Ka-E Ko-Ro Ki-Ya! Ko KoOo-Ka-E Ko-Ro Ki-Ya!”
Toshio paused, for a moment feeling like a child again on his father’s farm. Dancing to the thump of the warrior’s beat, clapping and praying for rain, a good harvest and a plentiful hunt—it was such a simpler time back then. Back before Fuji-sama, Satsu-kun and his mother arrived and changed the Kondo boy’s life forever.
“I don’t miss it,” Toshio said, speaking to himself. He snapped himself back to reality, to Yamato, where the Kondo festivities were drawing the ire of the locals. This chanting would go on for hours, as each adult male had to be blessed for the hunting season. The most popular dance was the Ku Rimse, the bow dance, where women gathered and chanted around the hunter who performed a series of archery movements with a bow and arrow.
Though the shinobi had an analytical mind, he knew from experience not to discount his instincts. A feeling of dread hit Toshio then and there, just before the arrow flew towards the castle. It felt as if it had stricken the ninja’s heart, for it did not beat out of fear for Satsu-kun’s life.
“Assassin! Assassin!” came shouts from the guards. Toshio was overwhelmed by concern, and by the time he had recovered and traced the path of the arrow, the shooter was gone. The entire guard came upon the slums in a roar, scattering the Kondos amidst their festival. Cries broke out among his people.
Part of Toshio wanted to run to them, to protect them from the overzealous samurai. But he had buried that part of him long ago. For a purpose higher than himself, for an ideal beyond imagination, and for the oath he would uphold past his death—he ran to the Emperor’s side.
“Satsu-kun! Please be unharmed!”
■■■■
Satsuma was in his quarters, unharmed though visibly unnerved. Though not from the danger that had interrupted his morning meal: the arrow went well stray, and was shot as such a distance that it had no force behind it after making it up to the veranda. If anything, it had ended a very tedious meeting with an overbearing shipwright.
Instead, the Young Lion was worried over the Kondos, and how this would worsen the already horrific relations between them and the Hyugans. It didn’t help that within his room was a legion of samurai and guardsman just begging for the order to set the slums ablaze.
“You cannot appear soft, nor friendly towards the natives,” Toshio said, sympathetic to Satsuma’s situation. This was the sort of difficult decision a man in his position made each and every day. Yet through all this, he was able to retain the same smile of his childhood. It reminded Toshio of just how special a person he was.
“I will not have a massacre break out within Yamato, not for such a half-hearted attempt at doing me harm. Instead of using a samurai’s kanabō, let us use a doctor’s scalpel instead,” Satsuma declared. “I wish for this matter to be dealt with swiftly and quietly. I would ask who among you has the most experience with the Kondo people.”
While the rest of the room looked around with uncertainty, Toshio gulped. His identity was something he had to keep well-hidden if he intended to stay at the Emperor’s side. Yet right now his master needed him. So he stepped forth and—
“Your Imperial Majesty, please allow me this task,” said a man with greying hair and longest, oddest moustache Toshio had ever seen. Wispy tendrils fell from beside his lips, down his chin and then inches beyond. “I am Captain Hanbei, of the Yamato City Watch. It is my failure that allowed this to happen. Please allow me to seek this assassin, or grant me permission to take my life. For this shame is too great to bear.”
Toshio gave the captain a scrutinizing gaze. He spoke well for a soldier, and didn’t seem particularly overwhelmed at being in the Emperor’s presence. Likely a samurai once of high renown, that for whatever reason was stripped of his titles. He wore a white kimono beneath a suit of ashigaru armor, painted purple save for the golden crest of the Chrysanthemum Seal.
Satsuma had already seen enough seppukus for a lifetime in his short reign, and had little intention of watching another. He granted the guardsman his request, though asked once more if there would be someone to aid Captain Hanbei in this task. Toshio took his cue and bowed low.
The Emperor accepted the shinobi’s offer and sent them off with a smile. Though it was more like a grimace. “Worry not for me, Satsu-kun. I shall see this through!”
■■■■
“You offered to take your own life in shame,” Toshio grumbled, “so why are you drinking in an izakaya?!”
The ninja released his pent-up frustration by slamming a fist into the bar table. Time was of the essence, and they were wasting theirs with saké of all things. This was a seedy tavern—or as seedy as they got in Yamato—on the West side of the city. Nowhere close to where they needed to be.
Hanbei ignored his companion, focusing instead on pouring himself a cup. After bringing it up to his nose and savoring it with a sniff he downed it. “Aah! I never start a job without a good drink. Sets the tone to any endeavor. It’s only a shame we don’t have the time to take a dip at the Steamed Scholar. I’ve got a wicked knot in my back that’s killing me!”
“That won’t be the first thing that kills you, if you keep this up!” Toshio yelled, at least inside his head. He took a long breath to regather his composure, and brought out a detailed map of the slums as well as calculations for the arrow’s trajectory. From what he witnessed and where the arrow happened to land, he could narrow down where the shooter must have shot from.
“Ho? What’s all this then?” Hanbei asked with an amused smirk. “It’s a pretty map, I’ll say that much. But I’ve patrolled through those ghettoes for years, lad. They move around every week, trying to escape taxes and smuggle goods into and out of the city. Clever little dirtskins.”
“Captain Hanbei,” Toshio spoke while tracing arcs across his paper, “I shall investigate the matter on my own. You may stay here and continue to indulge in your drink.”
“Tempting. But let me ask you something, lad: how do you feel about Kondos?”
The shinobi was taken aback, unprepared for such a question point-blank. The irony here being that he did have a prepared answer to give, and promptly gave it.
“Kondos disgust me. They are a savage people: uncivilized tribes of hunter-gatherers. They are little more than animals, and should be treated as such.”
Hanbei slapped his knee and laughed. Toshio couldn’t imagine what in his answer could possibly be humorous. “Going into the slums with that attitude will get you nowhere. They’re a crafty lot who like to keep their lips tight around us Hyugans—even if their neighbor is a deranged killer. Must be some sort of dirtskin code,” Hanbei sighed before pouring a drink and offering it to Toshio. “Luckily, I just so happen to speak their language.”
Toshio rose a hand to reject the offer. “It is surprising that you speak the Kondo tongue. I hear it is quite difficult to articulate the various tenses of verbs they use in—”
“Eh? What are you going on about? I’m talking about ryō, lad! Here, I’ll show you!” Hanbei hailed over the barkeep and requested to see the cleanup kid. Before long a sullen-faced boy no older than eight came out from the back room, holding a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other. He kept his head tucked between his shoulders as if prepared for a beating.
That all changed when he recognized Hanbei. The boy smiled and waved.
“Toshio, meet Ko-chan. He’s my eyes and ears, for the right price.”
“To...shie?” Ko-chan asked, scrutinizing Toshio’s face. The ninja had to turn away and curse. Ko-chan was one of his informants. Rascal was playing both sides, it seemed.
Hanbei twisted his moustache out of habit. “Alright, kid. You know what a bow is, right? Good. I need you to run back to your part of town and hunt them down for me. Each one you find gets you a nice little bonus, got it?”
Ko-chan got it and then got going, much to Toshio’s relief. The captain of the city watch mistook his relief for something else. “Haha! Kid wasn’t going to bite you. But you really can’t stand dirtskins much, can you? You must be from a high pedigree family, I take it?”
“Something like that,” Toshio replied flatly. “More importantly, we need to find out who is selling the Kondos their weapons. The crime of a savage wielding a bow and arrow is punishable by an arrow to the arm—that is the law of the land. They knew that danger...yet proceeded to perform the ceremony anyway.”
Hanbei downed his drink and slammed down his cup. This was his third. “Ceremony? Oh, that thumping dance? Figured it was some sort of bear mating call—who knows what those types are into! Hahaha...well anyway, your gear’s here.”
Toshio was rightfully confused, at least until another member of the Yamato City Watch arrived carrying a suit of purple armor. He gave the two of them a head nod. “Cap’n, found the spare suit. Looks like it’s gonna be a size too big, though.”
“It’ll do, Ganji,” Hanbei said before handing it over to the shinobi. “Go ahead and slip it on, and we’ll start our patrol.”
“I don’t wear—” Toshio started, before giving pause. If he was being forced to accompany this goon of a guardsman into the slums, it would be important that his fellow kinsmen didn’t recognize him. This armor would work as a disguise.
“...very well, I’ll wear the armor. Though I don’t expect I’ll have need of it.”
■■■■
Toshio fidgeted for the hundredth time. For starters, the ashigaru armor was too large on his frame—though it fit his chest and arms well enough, it’s previous bearer had something the ninja didn’t: a plentiful gut. Because of this the cuirass felt more like a shell, making quick maneuvers next to impossible.
Though the worst feature by far was its smell. “I take it the Yamato City Watch does not clean their armor regularly, or at all for that matter.”
Captain Hanbei tugged at his moustache while he chuckled. “Kimura-kun had a habit of sweatin’ like a stuffed dog. A summer down here will do that to a fellow.” The guardsman wiped a cloth across his forehead with his left hand. In his other was his spear—much more than a walking stick, the hardwood shaft was covered in lacquered bamboo, and had a wicked blade about an arm’s length at the top.
“You wield the spear quite proficiently,” Toshio noted, looking over his grip and stance. He had inspected enough soldiers to tell the skillful ones at a glance. While the yari was thought to be lowly weapon, the truth was more men had died at spearpoint than ever by a katana’s edge. “May I assume you served during the Golden Era?”
“Sorry—I don’t have any good war stories to tell. Now look alive, lad. The dirtskins in this street can be particularly jumpy.”
Toshio noticed it as well. The Kondo slums were like an entirely different place from the perspective of a Yamato City Watchman. The natives quieted up and shot glances from out windows, from alleyways and partially-opened doors. It was eerie not hearing even the children playing at midday. It almost made the shinobi wish he had a weapon.
“What a foolish thought,” Toshio scolded himself. “I’m here to clear my people of a crime against my lord—not do them harm!”
An elderly man who was too stubborn or too senile to catch the mood, wandered about the streets as usual. When he saw the pair of guardsmen he began shouting in a foreign tongue, and it was clear to Toshio that the man’s mind hadn’t left the days of the Kondo War. Or rather, the Kondo Massacre. For the old man’s sake it was a good thing that Captain Hanbei didn’t understand the curses flying in his direction.
The veteran city watchman pulled out something from his pouch—an apple—and tossed it over to quiet the old man. The appeasement actually worked, and the elderly Kondo went on his way. As much as it pained Toshio to admit, his people had little in the way of pride these days.
“Old bastard and I go through this routine every time I come through here. Problem for him is that his eyes are no good,” Hanbei shrugged. “We’ve got beater crews who take this route from time-to-time, and they don’t discriminate when it comes to beatings.”
“There have been multiple reports of guards treating the natives harshly, in some cases beating them to within an inch of their lives. I take it you employ alternative methods?”
“Back when I was younger and angrier, I’d probably do the same to these dirtskins,” Hanbei said as he stroked his chin. “Lot of guardsman come from samurai families stripped of their titles and lands. They have to take out that anger on someone, even if its poor Kondo grannies. Speaking of which…”
“What’s everyone shushin’ up for? Why can’t you all be dhis quiet at night when I’m trying to sleep, eh?!” a small, shriveled yet sprightly grandmother came out with her hands on her hips. It was Ume-Ume, who had no fear nor concern at all for a pair of Yamato City Watchmen.
“Oh, it’s you Hanbei-kun. What’s with dhe recruit—run out of spears of something?” the old lady laughed at Toshio’s expense, and the captain joined in. There were even snickers from the shadows.
“He said he didn’t need it, Ume-chan. I’m thinkin’ he’s in over his head, but we’ll see. Now you wouldn’t happen to see any bows and arrows around here, would you?”
The grandmother tightened her lips and looked away for but a moment. It was a slight tell but a tell all the same. Hanbei hadn’t picked it up, and was about to accept Ume-Ume’s offer for tea when Toshio intervened.
“I think you’re holding back what you know, old maid,” Toshio said, pretending to be rude. Though in all honesty there wasn’t much make-believe involved. “You know all about the celebrations that went on this morning. I’m talking about the Ku Rimse.”
Upon speaking the name of the ceremonial dance there was a gasp, not from Ume but from the Kondos spectating all around them. The grandmother bit her lip and looked around with a scowl, before letting out a sigh and forcing them inside her hut. “Alright dhen, come in. Dhis new recruit of yours Hanbei, I don’t dhink I like dhem very much.”
Toshio was reluctant to enter, having seen the fungus that lined the old lady’s residence before. The squeaking of mice was nearly ever-present, yet if you believed Ume this place was a palace fit for a lord and a lady. Built, of course, from her late husband’s bare hands.
“Seems like quite the man,” Hanbei said, trying to shorten Ume-Ume’s story. “Now tell us about this Koo-Whimsy thing.”
The grandmother wasn’t pleased at being cut short, but—like all opinionated people—she was anxious to let her two guests in on how she felt. “It’s dhe hunting dance, hasn’t been done for years around here. Dhat’s because it makes no sense to be! See, not one of dhese boys has shot a fawn let alone an elk. Why, my husband, when he was courting me, once came back carrying a bear on his back twice his size! Dhat’s when I knew I would marry him! I said…”
Toshio went deep into his thoughts while Ume-Ume spoke at length about how her husband had wooed her decades ago. She had confirmed the ninja’s suspicions: there were few if any skilled hunters among the Kondos living in Yamato. To shoot an arrow from the slums to the Imperial Castle’s veranda took a skill these natives no longer possessed.
The shinobi was about to say as much when a boy slid open the door and interrupted them. Before Ume-Ume could scold him for his lack of manners, the boy handed Hanbei a bow. This was Ko-chan, who was beside himself with glee. “Found ‘a whole warehouse filled with ‘em! You’ll have to come see for yourself!”
Hanbei and Toshio exchanged glances. They weren’t going to say no to a fresh lead.
■■■■
Though the lead was fresh, the stench in the air wasn’t—this section of the slums bordered the Southside Harbor. The waft of unsold fish made the already ill wind go fouler. This was where the Danzaemon—the Untouchables—lived and worked their unsightly crafts: leatherworking, grave digging, and collecting nightsoil to name a few.
They were the lowest social class a Hyugan could belong to: a caste of outcasts. Some were criminals or sons and daughters of criminals, though many were the offspring of warriors who had chosen the wrong side in previous wars. There was likely over a hundred clans among them, broken up to bring about an era of peace all thanks to Satsuma’s father, Emperor Seijirō.
“The only banner they follow now is one of shame and defeat. In some ways, they have it worse than Kondos do. At least we have our culture and identity. These people have neither,” Toshio thought while looking over the impoverished settlement. Whereas the Kondos tended to avoid the guards the Danzaemon sneered and looked at them with an exceeding amount of curiosity—especially at their armor.
“You won’t find this law written in any book, but we patrolmen don’t often come down these parts. So long as these outcasts keep quiet and keep at their work, we let them rule themselves. From what I hear, they have a new ‘king’ every week!” Hanbei chuckled, but his humor didn’t reach his eyes. They were busy scanning the area for threats. It seemed he was far more uneasy around them than Kondo grandmothers.
Ko-chan was even more terrified. From what Toshio understood, Kondos and Danzaemon kept to their own. The boy’s presence here wouldn’t go unnoticed. It was all the more reason to wonder how the young Kondo discovered this warehouse in the first place.
“It’s, it’s that one, over there!” the boy pointed. It wasn’t a warehouse but a shrine, though it was so crude Toshio could forgive Ko-chan’s misjudgement. There were torii made from scraps of driftwood leading up to the building, which was the only two-story shack around. There was a good explanation for that: it had originally been a watchtower, back when Yamato was a frontier town.
Hanbei let out a groan, but grabbed his coin pouch ready to reward Ko-chan. “Alright kid, a deal’s a deal. Now...where’d you run off to?” Not even Toshio could chase down their informant, who had gone into a full-out sprint down a nearby alley. The ninja couldn’t blame him for not wanting to stick around, but still…
“...this feels like a trap,” the two said in unison. Hanbei let out a chuckle while Toshio grimaced. It was good that they were on the same page, at least.
“You go in first lad, I’ll keep watch from out here. If there’s anyone in there, you’ll have a better chance to talk them down without a weapon,” the captain said while twisting his moustache. “Just keep in mind that while Untouchables don’t have much pride, they’re sensitive about the pride they do have.”
“Do not speak to me of pride,” Toshio replied coldly. Hanbei was a coward but also the older man. It was commonly said that only warriors with caution grew grey hairs, and the Yamato City Watchman certainly had plenty of both. Though Toshio was rarely the sort to take such risks, the safety of every Kondo in the Capital was on the line. More than that...
“I am here for the sake of His Imperial Majesty. You’re just here for a paycheck,” Toshio said, speaking down to the guardsman. “That is the difference between you and I, Captain Hanbei. I am entirely capable of handling this matter on my own.”
■■■■
Toshio proceeded to do just that: for starters, he obtained a cloth left out to dry, draping it over his armor. Revealing that he was in the employ of the city watch would likely do him no favors. After that he waited and observed the people going into and out of the shrine: there were none. In fact most actively avoided it.
There was no entrance aside from the front one, at least at ground level. But above and at the back, at the waterside, there was a window he could climb through. Getting the high ground on what was likely an ambush would be a tactical advantage.
“Ergh...so heavy,” Toshio groaned out through clenched teeth. He had put on fifty pounds courtesy of the oversized armor, and every ounce of it bore down into his fingertips as he tried to climb up the watchtower-turned-shrine. Footholds were hard to come by, but with enough grit and muffled yells the ninja managed to get to the window.
*thunk*
It wasn’t a perfectly silent entrance as Toshio tumbled into the open window and down several feet to the second floor balcony. It was set up similar to many of the older shrines in the Temple District. The first thing Toshio noted was the smell—just a single sniff made him feel as if he was amidst a ceremony in the Imperial Castle’s grand shrine.
“That can’t be...agarwood? That’s a luxury even for members of the Imperial Court! What’s going on here?”
“Both’er gone, milady. The one with’ah spear headed on back—look like he tucked his tail and runned!” said a voice that cracked with a squeak no different than the mice that ran freely across the floor.
“Captain Hanbei ran off, did he? Kuso,” the ninja cursed to himself, “I shouldn’t have expected anything more!”
There was a silence as Toshio slowly skulked over the balcony for a glimpse. He didn’t have to peer over—there were enough holes in the wooden boards to catch a decent view. Unfortunately that went both ways.
“The word issss ‘ran’ not ‘runned’, you imbecile! Why must I always be ssssurounded by such ssstupidity?!” said a slithering, angry yet elegant voice from below, which sounded far too noble to belong to an outcast. “Now then, are you fools going to deal with out guest upstairs or not?!”
The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman with a heavy coat of makeup on her face, though not heavy enough to cover the wart on her chin. Toshio could see it as it faced upwards towards him from below, though something odd was happening. It was getting larger.
“No...it’s getting closer?!”
To the ninja’s horror, the woman’s neck stretched out one foot and then a dozen more in length, wrapping around like a serpent eyeing its prey. That her inhumanely long tongue was hissing certainly added to the imagery. Toshio was so horrified that he hadn’t heard the pairs of footsteps that came running up the stairs. By the time he had recovered from the sight, the Danzaemon were atop him. Or rather, their fishing nets were.
“Lively, I’ll give ’em that!” said a man, toad-like in appearance, who came hopping up the stairs. He had a blowgun in one hand and a nasty looking dart in the other. He was also a yakuza—with a serpent across his bare chest.
“Bring our guest down below. I wisssh to be out of this sssshithole as quickly as possible.”
The Danzaemon did as they were told, though while they were grabbing and restraining him, Toshio noted that their eyes were empty. Vacant, as if there was no mind behind it. It didn’t make sense but nothing did inside this unholy shrine.
The demon recoiled her neck back into its proper place above her shoulders. But it was what was beside her and at the center of the shrine that took Toshio’s breath away. It was a statue—no, a wooden sculpture of a viper. It’s body was coiled while it’s head and top half were raised. It’s tongue was out and its fangs were bared. There was also another detail: a gash down it’s stomach.
“Satsu-kun, this is your work—I’d recognize it anywhere. Did you foresee this? What does it mean, and...and why didn’t you warn me?!”
“I see thisss carving disgusts you as well,” the demon scowled, first at Toshio then at Satsuma’s sculpture. She traced her finger over it. “Made of cheap and pathetic wood...I shall ssssurround myself with gold and gemstones before I’m done! I shall have an entire city of ssservants, once the Kondos are purged from Yamato. They will flock to me and I will welcome them with open arms, fufufufu! Ahahaha—*ah*!”
The woman’s laughter was cut short after she got a splinter on her finger. She stomped on the ground and let out a hiss, the spittle flying among the Danzaemon who did not so much as flinch. They were under some sort of spell.
Her attendant, the frog-like yakuza with the blowgun, gestured to a stack of papers. “What shall we do with’tha contract for the archers? Got some left over bows ‘ere, too!”
“You will do with them what we shall do to this disssstasteful shrine and this Imperial interloper: burn it all to the ground! Servants, light your torches!”
The mind-controlled Hyugans did as they were told, lighting torches and passing them around. Toshio gulped as sweat dripped from his brow. Trapped tightly within three separate nets, he could hardly feel his hands let alone use them to free himself.
“Am I to die here, Satsu-kun?! Am I not meant for a greater purpose?!”
The demonic woman with the stretchy neck opened the door, letting the afternoon sun come into the shrine. She turned around to face Toshio, outstretched her finger and hissed. “Have you any last words?”
Toshio grit his teeth and shouted, “Your days are numbered, demon! Satsuma-sama has seen your death a thousand times! The Sword will tear you asunder!”
“H-how dare you!” the demon bit her tongue in frustration. She then grabbed hold of her toad-like assistant and shook him. “Ssssilence him already! And bar the door after you’re done. I’ve wasted enough time with this filth!”
*swoop*
A poisoned dart came flying into Toshio’s chest. It was wedged in there—in his cuirass, that is. The smelly and oversized armor had saved his life, if only for moments more. The squeaking laughter of the yakuza was the last he heard before the door slid shut behind him. And once it closed, the torches fell.
The ninja watched in horror as the Danzaemon set themselves ablaze with their torches. They let out painful wails and cries, yet didn’t move as they each turned into human torches. The stench of burning flesh, the fumes of it—Toshio was in hell. He struggled with his bindings, using his teeth to chew apart the nets but to no avail.
He had better luck with his feet, able to stand up after some difficulty and hop around. Unfortunately by then the smoke filled the air, making it hard to see. Even worse was the creaking from the rafters above. The aged drywood was already beginning to cave. Toshio hopped over to the entrance and slammed against it, though it was no use—it was barred from the other side!
He coughed and as desperation kicked in, he looked towards the snake sculpture, fell to his knees and prayed. “Spirits, please! I cannot die here! I am meant to serve the Sword Who Cuts the Heavens! Allow me to survive this trial...I beg you!”
*wham* *WHACK*
A thumping came from the other side of the door, before a spearhead poked through. A familiar Yamato City Watchman followed thereafter, coughing at the fumes flying into his face. Captain Hanbei had to squint, but could see Toshio’s figure well enough.
“Better late than never! Now let’s get you out of here, lad!”
Toshio laughed—not from humor but from sheer relief. His companion hadn’t abandoned him after all. He gave the captain a nod, and after snatching what papers they could, they ran out of the shrine right as the roof came toppling down behind them.
■■■■
“You’ll have to forgive him, Your Imperial Majesty. Sometimes when folks experience great fear, their eyes play tricks on them,” Captain Hanbei said while twisting his lengthy moustache. “We all know demons aren’t real.”
Satsuma let out a chuckle while sipping his tea. “Regardless of who or what this woman was, I am relieved that you are safe, Toshio-san. The loss of life is unfortunate, but the documents you have found clear the Kondos of this crime. You have done the city of Yamato a great service. I do believe you two work well together!”
“It...it is as you say, Your Imperial Majesty,” Toshio said with his head bowed low. There was much more he wished to say, though now was not the time to say it.
When the shinobi raised his head he found an arm around it. It was Captain Hanbei’s. “If you think we’re getting along now, just wait until I get a couple cups of saké down him! The rest of the guards are throwing us a celebration—that is of course, if Your Imperial Majesty allows it.”
The Emperor held a hand to his lips and laughed. “Allow? I believe I shall order it! Toshio-san, please enjoy yourself…”
“...this day and every day we have left.”
