Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction / Samurai X Fan Fiction ❯ A Strong Will ❯ Pawn ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property of Watsuki Nobuhiro and the companies holding its title for distribution (including - but not limited to - Shueisha, Shounen Jump Comics, Fuji Television, Animax, and Viz). Used without permission for non-profit creative purposes.

Chapter 6: Pawn

Suzuka had only heard rumors about the hitokiri Battousai, and thus had expected to see some sort of larger-than-life samurai when one of the ninja messengers brought word that they'd successfully captured him. He had not expected them to dump a small, fragile-looking boy - unbelievably young - at his feet. The boy's long red hair was tangled and matted with mud, sweat and blood, and when his head flopped to the side, the trademark scar stood out painfully against the pale, dirty skin of his cheek. Suzuka shuddered. Even children were being used by the devils, and it made him sick.

Matsuo, on the other hand, didn't seem at all affected by the hitokiri's age or appearance. The man was practically vibrating with excitement and Suzuka half-expected him to kick the unconscious captive out of sheer cussedness. Instead, Matsuo was shouting orders to have Battousai bound tightly and transported back to headquarters immediately, with the caution to be careful and make sure he was still alive upon arrival there. Suzuka was instructed to see that these orders were properly carried out.

At first, he thought the task would be fairly easy. Escorting a rather unresponsive captive was hardly an issue, and seeing how the Ishin had turned tail and abandon him at the shrine - presumably - they were unlikely to come after him now. But as they made progress back to Nara in the pouring rain, Battousai's condition worsened. The two soldiers who carried the bound hitokiri between them suddenly stopped, one of them calling out to Suzuka with a worried voice. Battousai's fever had spiked, and he was shaking almost uncontrollably, he noticed when he approached. Suzuka swore under his breath and suddenly wished that they'd brought a carriage or a wagon with them on the mission; the rain was most assuredly not helping.

“Give him to me,” Suzuka ordered, pulling his horse up alongside the soldiers. Battousai moaned as he was moved, and Suzuka nearly flinched when he felt the heat radiating from his skin as he shifted in his saddle to accommodate the new burden. “This rain isn't doing him any good. I'll ride on ahead with Battousai; move double-time and try to get there as quickly as possible behind me. Lead them, Inoue.”

Inoue frowned, probably displeased with any sort of show of compassion towards the murderer they'd captured, but he was trained to obey orders. He nodded and motioned to the other soldiers in Suzuka's dispatch. With a curt nod, Suzuka tightened his grip on the shuddering boy and kicked his horse into a gallop. He wondered briefly just what kind of poison the ninja had used to subdue Battousai, and if they'd actually intended to kill him with it in the end. He shook his head on that thought, reminding himself that if they'd wanted to kill Battousai, he'd be dead by now. Besides, what was waiting for the hitokiri back in Nara was far worse than death ever could be, and he doubted that particular ninja clan would harbor such kind feelings towards the killer. He'd done research, and he'd discovered that members of said clan did not have the best history with Ishin's prized demon. They would rather see him suffer, he determined, which was exactly why he'd suggested them to Matsuo.

Well, the boy had to be suffering now, he thought. The longer they rode through the forest at full-gallop, it seemed the more the boy shook and moaned, and the higher his fever rose. Suzuka gritted his teeth and urged his horse to go faster; it would do him no good to arrive in Nara with a dead captive.

When Suzuka finally reached the outskirts of Nara, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With a quick glance down at Battousai to make sure he was still breathing, he nearly faltered - the boy's lips had taken on an unhealthy blue tint. Though the main training grounds weren't far, he didn't have much time to spare if he'd want to deliver a living hostage back into Matsuo's hands.

Fervently, he prayed that the hitokiri would live - not for Battousai's sake, but rather his own.

While Matsuo had planned the many things he would do once he captured Battousai, he could hardly form a coherent execution of those plans now that the demon was in his hands. Though word from his healers had said that the demon was deathly ill, he still felt a thrill of achievement. Battousai was a useful bargaining tool, and if he played his pieces correctly, he was on the right path to achieving his ultimate goal. He had to be cautious, however. The Shinsengumi leadership in Kyoto was definitely not to be underestimated in the realm of intrigue.

Matsuo had already sent the messenger to Hijikata, informing him of the subsequent capture of the famed hitokiri. At least they couldn't fault him for that much, should they choose to oppose him on any future actions regarding the matter. While Battousai was a lofty goal met, the real end objective was the capture of Katsura Kogoro, or any of the key Ishin leaders for that matter. Anything that could give him a name would be useful. But with Battousai in hand, Matsuo was one step closer to reaching that end. Without their best leaders, the Ishin would fall to a squabbling rabble of ambitious fools and would ultimately fall apart. Hijikata had to see the benefit in this.

For the time being, however, there was much to take care of. Matsuo was anxious to meet this famous bloodthirsty demon he now held captive. He would do so later in the day. For now, he had an ultimatum to finish writing. Summoning one of the aides near the door, he requested his writing tools and parchment, and to have Suzuka bring them. Suzuka was a shrewd man and would be quite useful in the more delicate matters such as these.

Reality flickered in and out of focus. Minutes became days became years, and sometimes backwards. Kenshin thought he smelled white plums, and then the thought passed as he caught scent of blood and illness which in turn made him ill. The world was painted green and then red, and then back to green, sometimes littered with nameless corpses or familiar faces. Hot and cold, frigid and stifling. Rough hands on tender wounds, questions that he wasn't sure he could answer - or would, for that matter - angry mutterings and frustrated arguments flew like arrows over his head. Perhaps they were arrows, and that was what he saw dancing across his visions.

But that was ridiculous, his mind was telling him as reality slowly came back into focus and stayed put long enough for him to piece a few things together. The first thing he noticed was that his teeth were chattering painfully inside his head, and the second was that he was alone inside a wooden shack - barn, storehouse, who knew - with nothing but torn and bloodstained clothing to keep the chill out. The third was that it wasn't actually cold outside; rather, it was intensely muggy and uncomfortably hot, but the heat didn't quite seem to reach his shaking limbs. Fourth: he was sick, then. Curled on his side, the dirt of the floor uncomfortably pressed into the side of his face and his shoulder was cramped from lying on it at such an awkward angle for so long, but when he tried to move his hands to shift positions, his wrists felt the harsh resistance of the tightly-wrapped thick twine that held them securely behind his back.

Then he remembered, and almost wished he hadn't: he was supposed to be dead.

Rationality kicked in; Shinsengumi were not known to keep captives. He knew the Shinsengumi had initiated the attack on the shrine, as their uniforms were distinctive nearly to the point of hilarity. It would be funny if the Shinsengumi didn't have such a solid reputation for being an intense, by-the-book group of samurai. He knew that much from experience as well, in his own dealings with them. Captives were rare, unless they were looking for specific information, of which he truthfully had very little that they would find useful.

He remembered ninja, and, as his stomach roiled in bitter reminder, poison. Had the ninja been another faction entirely? It hadn't seemed as though that was the case at the time. Then again, there was at least one ninja clan he could name that might demand his blood, but he stuck with his gut feeling that they were hired out by the Shinsengumi.

Which probably meant that the Shinsengumi thought he had information valuable to their cause. What that information might possibly be, he couldn't determine; but he did know that finding out would be rather unpleasant, if the rumors surrounding Hijikata's methods of interrogation were any indication.

Another harsh shudder shook him down his spine from collarbone to tailbone, the sudden movement extracting a surprised gasp as he felt still-tender injuries jar against the hard dirt floor. His vision blurred at the edges, the lack of focus made him dizzy even as he lay on the ground, and the vertigo gave him a headache. Muscles and joints aching with fever, his body felt like leaden weight. Weak as a kitten. Had he anything left in his stomach, he was sure it wouldn't be long before he revisited it. Doubtful, though - he didn't even know how long he'd been in captivity for. He could have been there for days, for all he knew.

He closed his eyes as he tried to wrap his mind around the situation. It was a form of distraction, which he sorely needed. This was a grave situation to find oneself in, but not a hopeless one. He was alive, for one, and would remain so until the Shinsengumi realized that he really didn't know as much as they thought he did - should that be what they were looking for. If he could just get his body to move, he was fairly certain he could break out of the rot wood walls of the shack without too much trouble. He might not know exactly where he was, but he could find out once he made it outside. The only bindings he could sense were the ones on his hands. They knew he was weak, but their mistake was in underestimation.

And his was in overestimation.

Kenshin had barely moved one knee to get it underneath him before he felt his stomach rebel sharply, spasms from his diaphragm forcing him to dry-heave. It was miserable, this nasty feeling of too much poison in his system. He wasn't even sure he had gotten over the effects of Hirokatsu's draught. His eyes burned and watered as nothing came up, his body shaking even more violently than before.

But he could get through this. He had to.

“Hijikata-san!” exclaimed an optimistic, youthful voice just outside the paper shoji that separated Hijikata's office from the courtyard.

The voice unmistakably belonged to Okita Souji, the Shinsengumi's first division captain. Hijikata sighed irritably; he'd just started in on another stack of reports. But there was no helping it, anyway. The shoji slid open to reveal a winded Souji. Hijikata shot him a concerned frown, which Souji summarily ignored. The captain was carrying a scroll, and held it out for Hijikata.

“It's a message from Nara,” Souji explained when Hijikata took the scroll. “Matsuo Ryuichi's seal is on the outside. The courier said it contained important news, and requires a prompt reply.”

“Give it to Isami - it's his department,” Hijikata curtly replied, holding the scroll back out to Okita without even looking up.

“I tried to tell the courier that, but he specifically said this was for you,” Okita said insistently, refusing to take it back. “I think it's important.”

Hijikata sighed again as he glared first at the first division captain and then down at the parchment. He really hated handling these matters, which was the main reason why his boss - Kondo Isami - usually handled them. But he relented, breaking the seal and reading. For a moment, he wasn't paying attention in his irritation, but a word - a name - caught his eye. He reread it, and though he refused to show it, the news greatly surprised him. Battousai was captured in Nara? By a sub-captain whose name he didn't even recognize? It had to be some kind of mistake.

“Hijikata-san…?”

“Close the door, Souji.”

Okita did as Hijikata bid him to, and out of curiosity he moved closer to try to read the writing on the message. Hijikata handed the paper to him,

“But isn't this good news, Hijikata-san?” Okita asked after a moment of quiet reading. “We've been trying to track down Battousai for some time now.”

“That's not the issue.” Okita shot a strange look back up at Hijikata, who sighed. “We don't even know how much truth this message holds. Our typical policy with public enemies is to kill them in battle, not capture them unless we need information. If that's the case, then this Matsuo might simply be causing trouble.”

“Battousai's high-profile, though,” Okita pointed out.

“But that doesn't mean he knows everything about the Ishin's inner workings,” Hijikata said. “He's simply a tool of Katsura Kogoro, like all his other soldiers. This Matsuo is likely placing too high a value on what information Battousai might offer.”

Okita's eyes sparkled with understanding, and he nodded. “We should probably verify the message, then.”

“Do me a favor, Souji. Pass this message on to Isami, and see what he thinks. Or have Tetsunosuke do it.”

Rolling up the scroll, Okita stood again with a nod. With a brief farewell, he left the room. Once it was quiet again, Hijikata massaged his temples with his fingers.

“Did you get that, Yamazaki?” he asked suddenly.

“I did,” a voice confirmed from behind the back shoji. “Do you want me to look into it?”

“Aa,” Hijikata confirmed. “Find out what's really going on in Nara. I want to know if this Matsuo really does have Battousai, and what he intends to do with him.”

“It will be done,” Yamazaki replied, and then he vanished.

Hijikata went back to massaging his forehead, vainly fighting off the beginnings of what he knew would be a long, obnoxious headache. This was not supposed to be a day for bad tidings, but somehow the entire day had turned entirely sour. While Battousai's capture was good news, Hijikata was concerned about Matsuo's motives. Of course, dismissing the man would be the simplest way to solve the problem, but Hijikata was sure that by this point, news had spread of Matsuo's epic endeavor, regardless of how the hitokiri had ended up in his hands - if at all. Removing him would cause a stir within the ranks, and while the Shinsengumi were far from shorthanded after the street-famous Ikeda-ya raid, Hijikata was not in the mood for any sort of dissension, especially since there were more soldiers capable of rioting. Matsuo laid down a pretty impressive hand, and it was Hijikata's turn to see how much of it was a bluff before he made his next move.

Hijikata had a bad feeling that this was only the beginning of a frustrating situation, in which there would be no winners.

It had been a little over a week - nearly a week and a half - since Himura had shown up at the inn's back door, half-dead and bleeding all over the foyer. Sato had yet to hear a word back from Katsura on the boy's condition, which was the least he could have done for her help, she decided huffily. She wanted to know that the boy was all right, and not dead. He'd certainly looked it when he'd been taken from the inn by Katsura's men.

Since then, Sato had waited for the day that the Shinsengumi would trace Himura's steps to her door, and she was glad she had nothing much to tell them, if she had to. The recent influx of Shinsengumi was troubling to her; she didn't like how vicious they'd become in her area, without such a strong influence like Kondou or even Hijikata keeping them in check. The Ikeda-ya raid had only bolstered Shinsengumi membership, and the growing number of turquoise coats on the streets was very troublesome, especially since not much happened in a tourist town like Nara. Usually. Once in a while, they'd stop at her inn, and those times were always more tense and stressful than any other time, especially if any Ishin might happen to show up while they were there. She couldn't simply turn them out, either.

Perhaps the only upside to having Shinsengumi visit her inn was the fact that some of them became particularly loose-tongued after a few rounds of her best sake. Sato wasn't a spy, but she was good at gleaning information when she could get her hands on it. And when a round of Shinsengumi lumbered into her inn that evening for a round of sake, she grinned and bore it with the hope that it'd prove useful.

There were four turquoise-clad Shinsengumi, and they took the corner table closest to the outside wall with not so much as a greeting in her direction. She did not expect one. The apparent leader of the group ordered several rounds of dumplings and a few flasks of medium-grade sake - Ah, so they might actually be on a budget, Sato noted - which she had one of her girls bring out to them once it had been warmed. The girl had been told to report back whatever they might be talking about, as she always had her workers do with any potentially suspicious or trouble-making customers.

It didn't take long for the group of soldiers to grow rowdy under the influence of the alcohol. Sato had expected as much, and wasn't surprised when their voices grew louder as two of them began arguing over something as ridiculous as who looked the best in the trademark Shinsengumi uniform. New recruits, perhaps. Nothing of interest from them, then.

Sato was quite surprised, then, to hear moments later from one of her girls serving the group that there was a rumor spreading about a high-profile prisoner the local Shinsengumi official had captured. One apparently had blurted out that they'd finally captured Battousai, but the others had shushed him. The news left a sour taste in her mouth, but she was careful to keep her expression neutral. After Sato thanked the girl, she resolved to forward the message to Katsura's lodging in Kyoto to inquire after Himura. She knew she could very well be simply paranoid about the situation, but she had to make sure the young man wasn't the one that the Shinsengumi were holding in their new complex.

She had a very bad feeling, however, that her fears were wholly well-founded as she excused herself to her office briefly to scrawl out a message. Few, simple words, in case the courier was detained, but enough that Katsura would know what it meant.

Is the boy with you?

Matsuo's reaction was both frightening and entirely expected; Suzuka had known long before his commanding officer sent the courier in Kyoto's direction that he would receive a reply he did not like. Had Suzuka truly stood behind Matsuo's decisions thus far concerning the famed assassin they now held in their makeshift jail, he might have tried to warn the man ahead of time. On the other hand, it was likely Matsuo would not have listened.

At this point in time, however, Matsuo had made a wrong move. Battousai would not be valuable any further than the fact that he was a famous enemy, which - at most - might be a potentially demoralizing loss to the Choshuu. The fact that the hitokiri was in poor condition anyway made it more difficult to make a strong case on Matsuo's behalf to appeal to real Shinsengumi leadership. Battousai was a poor pawn in a higher-stakes game like this.

But it did seem that Hijikata was curious, after all; he'd wanted proof of Battousai's capture, and he wanted Matsuo to transport him to Kyoto to do so. And Matsuo was in such a fit about it that he didn't even notice the blatantly obvious - but entirely valid - excuse he could send in reply. It would be verified by whichever of Yamazaki's conglomerates that Hijikata had most certainly sent to ensure the credibility of Matsuo's claims.

Battousai was unable to travel, due to the wounds he received in the process of his capture.

Suzuka would point this excuse out to him, and would make it look like it was Matsuo's idea in the first place. That was how this game worked - it had served him well thus far, as he was still alive. Besides, such a story would likely be confirmed by outside sources under Hijikata's command.

No, Suzuka was no fool; he knew that Hijikata had sent someone besides the courier to ensure Matsuo's messages contained no obvious lies. Hijikata worked that way. This was also dangerous ground; if Suzuka made himself appear too strongly in support of Matsuo's Nara faction, he could risk downfall should the Kyoto leadership ever decide the man was too much of a menace to lead the Nara branch. But if he did not put on a show of loyalty to Matsuo, he would surely be told to commit seppuku - an order he could not disobey.

Suzuka shuddered; this was such a mess, really. He would have to choose sides eventually; he only hoped he chose the right one.

“Suzuka.”

Matsuo's irritated voice cut through his thoughts, and he nearly jumped. Scolding himself, he quickly schooled his expression to one of deep thought. He couldn't lose focus now. The courier looked rather cowed now, Suzuka noticed with a small measure of sympathy for the man. Matsuo sighed, clearly flustered and still upset.

“My humble apologies, Matsuo-sama,” Suzuka said hastily, bowing, his head to the tatami mats below him. “This humble one was simply considering the situation carefully.”

“And?” Matsuo wasn't impressed.

“I spoke with the healers, my lord,” Suzuka continued. Careful. “They're concerned that Battousai's poor condition will make it difficult to get any answers out of him for some time; a week, even. Perhaps-”

Matsuo's face suddenly looked thoughtful, and held up a hand to cut off Suzuka. Good, he was taking the right train of thought. The man might have a one-track mind in some regards, but he wasn't entirely a fool.

“Please relay this message to your master, courier,” Matsuo said, foul mood slowly lifting. “Tell him that the prisoner is in too poor of health to travel. He barely made it the short trip here, and a dead prisoner offers no answers. Please ask Hijikata-sama to bear this in mind.”

Right into his hands, really. Suzuka was careful not to let his thoughts show as he kept his forehead pressed to the floor. He could practically feel the courier relax as Matsuo's rather frightening ki cooled from a blazing rage to a simmer. The courier nodded curtly with an affirmed grunt.

“If you will excuse me.”

Suzuka slowly lifted his head as he heard the courier slide the shoji shut behind him. Matsuo didn't appear to be watching him, and instead sat with a deeply furrowed brow. He was thinking, then. Good.

“If you will excuse me as well, my lord, I will go check on our prisoner now,” Suzuka said quietly, bowing his head once more.

Matsuo cast him one look, and with a grunt and a wave, Suzuka respectfully removed himself from the room to allow Matsuo space. Before he went to the warehouse - the only place they could keep prisoners, as they had yet to finish building the jail cells in the new complex - he planned to take a quick stop by his quarters to write a quick note. Hopefully he would catch the courier before he left.

Suddenly, the hair stood on the back of his neck as he made his way from Matsuo's quarters. Someone was following him, watching. Ah, Hijikata's extra - and if that was the case, either Hijikata hadn't chosen his spy well, or the spy had intended to be noticed.

Careful now, he reminded himself. Neutrality was key here, as was the truth.

And in the blink of an eye, the observer was gone. No, not gone - concealed again, Suzuka assumed. Instead of bothering him - as it would some - it confirmed what he had been suspecting. Matsuo was under heavy surveillance, and Suzuka had just been warned. This was his one chance at blamelessness should all go wrong on Matsuo's end, and he could not afford to make any wrong turns. Taking a shuddering, deep breath, he continued on his way.

Gods, such a mess, but not an unfortunate one. Not yet.

It was as he had suspected: Suzuka was no fool. A matter of time would tell if Suzuka could be counted on, now that he knew the situation. Yamazaki had made sure of it. Matsuo - for now - was telling the truth, but how long that would last remained to be seen. The hot-headed Nara branch head had indeed managed to snare a rather interesting catch, but his motives were still unclear. Hijikata would surely be informed by nightfall of the situation from the courier; he would follow soon after and give his own report.

For now, there were still interesting matters to look into. There had been a bit of a stir over at the warehouse earlier that he wanted to investigate further before he traveled back to Kyoto. Battousai might be ill by the healers' reports, but a cornered, injured animal strikes the hardest.

With a smirk, Yamazaki vanished into the shadows, curious to see what would happen next. How will you handle this turn of events, Matsuo? If you let Battousai slip through your fingers, what will you tell Hijikata-sama then?

With a quiet snap, Kenshin finally felt - heard - the twine ropes begin to give. His wrists stung, raw from the friction of the twine against his skin and slick with his own blood. Movement still brought intense bouts of vertigo and nausea; remnants of the poison - or Hirokatsu's cocktail, or both - still in his system, he surmised. He would have to be able to work around feeling ill. Trying to distract himself from the discomfort, he occupied himself as he continued to rub his bonds against the edge of the wooden crate he was laying next to. He would need to have a plan of action once he got the rope loose enough to slip his wrists free.

There were two doors to the room, the back one Western-style with metal hinges, the front covered by a mere flap of heavy cloth. He could see the shadow of a guard standing just outside the front, felt his ki, saw a corner of turquoise cloth peeking out from behind the doorframe that had long since told him that he was indeed in the hands of the Shinsengumi. The back door would likely be locked, but if the hinges were like anything he'd already encountered in terms of Western invention, he knew how to get around that. He'd just have to be quick and quiet about it, before the guard at the door noticed anything. There was a stack of metal poles in one corner of the shack along with several other wooden crates.

This was more likely a warehouse than anything, he decided. Probably back in the Shinsengumi's base in Nara, since the complex was far newer and did not yet have any sort of prison like the Kyoto headquarters held. He counted his blessings at this point; at least he didn't have a set of wooden bars separating him from freedom. Though he wasn't quite as familiar with Nara as he was with Kyoto, he did know enough of the city's layout to be able to flee from it once he was free.

And suddenly his hands were free. The twine fell loose around his numbed fingers, pain prickling down from forearm to fingertips as feeling was restored. He gingerly brought his hands around in front of him, wincing at the ache in his shoulders from the long hours in an awkward position. As he'd expected, there was a bleeding ring of raw flesh around each wrist, fingers tinted slightly blue from lack of circulation. It occurred to him that he should probably get to his feet and get moving, but then he remembered he didn't really have a course of action planned, aside from trying to force the back door open by its hinges and making a run for it. He supposed he could grab one of the poles for a weapon, if he needed it.

Wincing, he pushed himself up until he was sitting, but he had to stop there - his head throbbed mercilessly and the room spun. He didn't have enough time to take the luxury to sit around for long; he heard voices outside the main door, though nobody seemed to be coming in just yet. Gritting his teeth with determination, he forced himself to his wobbly feet, placing his hand against a wooden crate to steady himself as he nearly collapsed.

He needed to get himself together. Weapon first, he decided once he'd gained his bearings. That way, if he was discovered while working on the hinges - the door was indeed Western, he verified with a glance - he could at least defend himself. Progress towards the stack of metal poles was slow, and soon he realized that he would have to be extremely careful not to disturb the entire pile by removing one; the fall would make a great deal more noise than he needed to be making right now.

But before he could make it within reach of the metal poles, he heard a guard walk up to the sentry at the door and begin to speak with him in quiet voices. Kenshin was sure he heard the newcomer mention checking in on the prisoner, and he froze.

Shit. Time for a new plan.

Kenshin nearly dove back to where he'd been laying before, wincing as he landed hard on his side. He placed his hands behind his back, clutching the frayed and broken ends of rope in his hands, making sure to keep his back to the crate so that the guard wouldn't see the fact that his bonds had been removed. Feigning unconsciousness, he felt rather than heard the guard enter the warehouse and approach him.

A sudden idea struck him, and while it ruined all hopes of stealth he'd had from before, it was his only chance at this point. He waited, motionless, until he felt the guard stop next to him and bend down. The guard was close enough that Kenshin could feel the brush of the guard's breath, which smelled faintly of sake and fish; Kenshin had to be careful not to wrinkle his nose. He couldn't wait too much longer; otherwise he'd miss his chance.

As soon as the guard reached out to press a hand to his forehead, Kenshin's eyes snapped open. Before the guard could even mutter a surprised curse, he grabbed the man's wrist and pulled him forward, bringing the hilt of the katana stuffed into the guard's obi closer to his reach. His free hand closed around the pommel, and he shoved the guard backwards, the momentum pulling the blade from its sheath. By then, the guard had grunted in surprise, and was turning to call out a warning - which he never had a chance to finish, as Kenshin quickly adjusted his grip on the sword and stabbed the blade deep into the man's chest. With a sharp jerk, he managed to pull the sword free of the man's body, and after a short, staggering step to regain his balance on his feet, he charged the door. The sentry had probably heard the commotion by now - confirmed as the sentry's head appeared around the frame of the door, a surprised look etched into his face.

The look stayed in Kenshin's mind even after he'd taken the guard down with a quick horizontal slash, cleaving head from shoulders in a scalding spray of red. He shuddered, but didn't take the time to dwell on it as he had to put all his concentration into simply moving.

Fresh air - only a breath of it before he heard a shout behind him and turned to block it with the stolen blade. There was more than one sentry. He'd expected that much, at least; still, he had hoped. He couldn't waste time, and with another block followed by a quick upward swipe, that sentry was down with a wound that ran from mid-calf to hip. Not fatal, but incapacitating. Kenshin didn't have time to deliver the fatal blow, even if the killer's instinct in him told him to finish the job. Pounding feet and a whistle echoed around the corner of the building, and he quickly turned the other direction and ran, stumbling every other step of the way as his overly-abused body refused to listen to him.

No time, no time, no time -

It was a mantra that ran through his mind, and kept him going. He rounded the back end of the building, and there - he saw the gate. The complex was surrounded by wood, the trees very like the ones he recalled seeing in the vast groves surrounding Kasuga Taisha. How close was this complex to the shrine? He could hide there; find his way from there once he broke free from here, if he got away.

A snarling, turquoise-clad enemy blocked his path, arms raised. Kenshin swung with a determined cry, planning to cut the man in two as he realized that the man held no weapon and-

The world suddenly went gray, white stars dotting his vision as pain shot through his shoulder and side on a hard impact. A heavy weight landed on top of him from behind, knocking the breath from him. Gagging and wheezing, he realized he heard voices distantly shouting above him, and rough hands snatched his arms, one hand twisting his wrist around painfully to force him to let go of the stolen sword's pommel which damn it, baka deshi, you never drop your sword or you're dead! With a snarl, he fought back struggling and tightening his grip on the hilt and striking out at whatever he could get his hands or feet or blade on-

White flashed across his vision, and only after it had cleared did he register that he'd heard a snap and felt the intense pain shooting up his arm - oh gods ohgods - and the sword was already gone from his pain-numbed fingers before he even felt himself dropping it. Several sets of hands had him pressed to the ground, one cheek smashed into the dirt, which he could taste along with blood and sweat and tears of frustration - were those his? Something sharp was digging into his back, perhaps a knee, or an elbow. He was effectively pinned.

“You're a damned nuisance, Battousai,” he heard a harsh voice with hot breath whisper in his ear. Kenshin stilled, face scrunched into a snarl, puffs of dirt flying as he panted heavily into the ground. “You really are a demon, moving like that with those injuries.” A hand was threading through his hair at his skull, pulling his neck back painfully off the ground. “You killed my men, hitokiri, and while death would be a far more fitting punishment for you, I have my orders. But I'm sure as hell not going to let you do that again - I'll make sure of it.”

A large, calloused hand roughly grabbed his right arm, just above the elbow. Kenshin's heart skipped when he realized what the man was intending to do, but no amount of struggling could stop it. Before he could even draw the breath to protest, there was a vicious jerk that shot white across his vision and he tasted blood in the back of his throat as he -

Katsura sat up, sweat beading on his forehead, panting heavily, a startled cry barely stifled by awareness that he'd just awoken from a night terror. He didn't even remember it, other than the fact that it was more than unpleasant. Pressing a hand to his chest - and realizing that his heart was pounding way too heavily - he tried to calm himself with several deep breaths, reminding himself that it was just a dream. With a shaking hand, he hastily swiped one hand across his forehead, and pulled the edges of his sleeping yukata closer around himself and rolled out of the futon to his feet, padding across the tatami mats until he reached the shoji that faced the courtyard.

Fresh air - he took several deep breaths of it, and with a shudder he finally managed to calm his nerves to the point that his hands were no longer shaking. The night was blessedly cooler than usual, thanks to a late-evening rain. It was no longer raining now, and the moon was out and crescent-shaped and glowing brightly. By its position, he could tell dawn was yet hours away. He could hear grasshoppers in the nearby shrubs just down the steps and by the stone garden in the inn's courtyard. Sitting at the edge of the wooden ledge just outside his door, he sighed and stared into the garden in meditation, trying to clear his mind.

It wasn't working very well, he realized after ten minutes, a growing headache throbbing behind his eyes. He was worried, and he knew it. No word for three days now - a long three days since they'd fled Akira's shrine in Nara. Was Himura dead? Had he been injured again? Was he hiding out? Come to think of it, he had yet to hear from Akira as well. The shrine had most assuredly been burned to its foundation, and the monks likely killed, unless Himura had done something about that. He held out hope that the hitokiri had taken refuge with any monks that might have escaped the brutal hand of the Shinsengumi, as unlikely as the prospect was.

Massaging his temples with his fingers, Katsura decided that perhaps this wasn't the best time to be dwelling on these issues. He needed to find something to calm his mind and help him meditate. Tea sounded nice; perhaps whoever was on duty that night in reception would be willing to bring him a pot of it. He rose from his spot on the deck, fully intending on reoccupying it as soon as he had a steaming cup of genmai tea in his hands.

He had just pulled on a slightly more suitable yukata when he heard a quiet knock at the interior shoji, and an even quieter voice inquire after him. Startled, he nearly yelped, but managed to suppress it and compose himself enough to reply.

“Please enter,” he said softly, not wishing to disturb the other sleeping patrons of the inn.

A young courier he didn't recognize was at the door, but he did recognize the seal he bore. One of his network's, then - and the letter he was handed bore a seal that surprised him greatly. Sato. The courier was waiting patiently, remaining bowed to the floor by the shoji; the Nara innkeeper wished for a reply. He broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment.

Is the boy with you?

Katsura's heart sank. If Sato was inquiring after Himura, either she was being concerned, or she had heard something troubling. The latter was more likely; while Sato did seem to take a liking to Himura while he'd tried to recuperate at her inn, she wasn't the kind of person to send a message without a good reason. And if she had heard something, then Katsura could only assume the worst, and that was that Himura had been either killed or apprehended by the Shinsengumi. He hadn't made it out of Nara.

For Himura's sake, he prayed that the boy was at least given a samurai's death. If he was still alive… he would probably be tortured for information. And if that was the case, Katsura would have to make a rather unpleasant decision regarding Himura's fate.

Katsura made no sign of what he was thinking as he quickly wrote a reply to Sato, sealed it, and handed it back to the courier. Once the courier left, however, Katsura barely suppressed the sudden desire to strike out at anything sitting within reach - the small writing table he'd just used, which had a slowly-burning wax candle sitting on top of it; not a rational action at all. This was not a decision he wanted to make, damn it. But everything up until then had been for the sake of sonno joi - revere the emperor and expel the barbarians, the motto by which the Ishin ran its rebellion - and if Himura's death would ensure the continuation along the path to that goal, then so be it.

Himura, I'm sorry.

If the courier had been let in, then someone was indeed manning the reception and would likely serve tea as well, but Katsura no longer had taste for tea. He decided to ask for sake instead.

The world was painted in red; a furious, burning rage dominated everything, making Matsuo want to see blood to match the fiery crimson of his intense anger. Battousai - who was supposed to be sick enough to be on the brink of death - had nearly escaped, and had managed to drench the blood of a stolen sword in the blood of at least three of his men. There had been only two sentries on duty, and the guard who had come in to check the prisoner had been careless. Perhaps it was a fitting death, to die at an invalid's hands, all because of the fact that he didn't bother to check to make sure Battousai's hands were still bound. (The ropes had been replaced with iron shackles, he had been reassured. That mistake would not be repeated.) The healers had clearly underestimated the tenacity of the demon. Such a fucking disaster, this was - word of this incident was more than likely to reach Hijikata, and would very likely cause Matsuo to lose face because he couldn't keep control over one goddamned prisoner.

The bloodlust called to him, stronger than ever this time as blinding fury fueled it. He wanted someone - he would take almost anyone - to pay for what had happened tonight. He had wanted to order the head of the guards and the head of the healers to commit seppuku; he had wanted to go to Battousai himself and mete out his own form of punishment for the trouble the redheaded bastard-child had caused them so far. Gods, he had wanted to do that so badly.

But Suzuka was a wise counselor, one of the only calming voices that could ever reach through the brilliant haze of anger like a soothing balm. Suzuka had told him not to act out foolishly, that there really had been no way they could have anticipated Battousai's physical abilities. Forcing the head of the guard and the healers to perform the ritual suicide - reserved as one of the few honorable punishments for failure by Shinsengumi law - was a waste of manpower, loyal soldiers that they needed right now.

Damned if the man wasn't right, Matsuo knew, despite the fact that he was still infuriated. Battousai's stunt wasn't solely to blame, even if it was the trigger for this fit of rage. Nothing was going as planned, or as it should have. Battousai was a grand prize, one that Hijikata should have at least shown some fucking appreciation to Matsuo for taking him off the streets for him. But no, Hijikata had second-guessed his claims, asking for verification. And if Battousai was well enough to nearly stage his own escape, then he was likely well enough to travel - and that would be the news that would reach Hijikata. Suzuka had dismissed them before Matsuo took out his rage irrationally on them, which was probably a wise move.

“Goddamn it,” he growled, slamming a hand down on the tatami mats and not caring when several fibers of the straw snapped under the blow. Out of the corner of his eye, he was sure he saw Suzuka flinch. At a subtle look from Suzuka, he took a snarling breath. It did little to calm him. “I should ensure Battousai can't travel to Kyoto, the sonofabitch.”

“Matsuo-sama,” Suzuka said, placating - a tone of voice that Matsuo hated - “Yoshida already told you that Battousai has been dealt with accordingly. That is cause enough to keep him here for the time being. At the very least, it'll delay Hijikata's reply by a day.”

Matsuo grunted, but had to admit that Suzuka had a point. “But that won't last long.”

“It will be long enough to let Hijikata think about the situation, and for you to plan your next move,” Suzuka replied.

There was that - the issue of the time this situation had just bought them. Again, Suzuka had another good point, though Matsuo was unsure of how that would help them in the end.

“What if the healers deem Battousai fit for transport?” Matsuo suddenly asked.

Suzuka had opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp knock at the shoji interrupted him, and soon the head of the healers had been announced. Speak of the devil; Matsuo was not on particularly good terms with the head of the healers. Fuijii was a classically-trained older healer, one with a lot of experience. He was also being paid well to do a job he clearly didn't enjoy - they didn't see eye-to-eye on a number of issues, including prisoner treatment - and for that reason, Matsuo felt he had good cause not to entirely trust the old geezer. At least the healer had the common sense not to do anything about his displeasure; it was one of the sole reasons he still held his current position. Matsuo nodded curtly, glowering at the wizened man as he entered the room.

“Fujii-sensei.” Suzuka bowed low, but the healer bowed lower.

“May I ask your permission to report on Battousai's condition?” the healer asked, the hint of a snarl barely visible on his upper lip. Matsuo chose to ignore it and nodded again, an invitation to continue; let the old bastard think what he wanted, as long as he obeyed orders. “We've discovered the origin of your prisoner's illness, my lord.”

“Oh?”

“While we were unable to determine the exact cause of the illness, we do believe it has to do with the ninja clan's toxin reacting poorly to herbs Battousai had been given for treatment, my lord,” Fujii explained, bowing low. “The reaction isn't fatal, but it will take him yet some time to fully recover from its effects.”

Matsuo already knew as much; this was a useless report, since he already knew that the ill effects had not been enough to keep Battousai from fighting back. “What of his injuries from tonight's… activities?”

“Badly strained muscles, broken wrist, and a few reopened wounds. He is likely going to be unconscious for some time; he probably won't be able to hold a weapon properly for even longer.”

“Is he capable of transport to Kyoto?” Matsuo sighed as he asked this question; he had already anticipated the answer.

“Perhaps,” Fujii said thoughtfully, but after a moment, he added, “But I would strongly advise against doing so. Despite his apparent show of strength earlier this evening, he really is in rather poor condition. I'm surprised he was even able to stand. My guess would be that he managed to get as far as he did as an act of sheer desperation; desperate men do desperate things, regardless of the physical costs.”

Matsuo raised an eyebrow. The healer was advising against the transport, hm? Perhaps that would be enough to at least delay Hijikata for another day or so beyond what he'd been hoping, until he could think of something else - Suzuka's counsel came to mind. Perhaps this wasn't such an awful mess just yet.

“Very well. I would like a written explanation of what you just told me,” Matsuo said evenly. He would need it to send on to Hijikata, if he was asked for proof. “Check back in with me on Battousai's condition midday tomorrow. You are dismissed.”

Fujii bowed low in reverence, edging his way out of the room on his knees as he did so. Once the shoji was shut and only Suzuka and his own small detail remained, Matsuo waved a hand to Suzuka. The man nodded and respectfully left the room, knowing a sign of dismissal when he saw one. Matsuo wanted some time to think this over by himself; sometimes, even Suzuka's logic defied his mind.

“You aren't going to get off so easy for long, Battousai,” Matsuo promised in a low voice once he knew he was alone. “I'll make sure of it.”

.to be continued.

Further Historical/Contextual Notes

Kasuga Taisha

This is also called the Kasuga Grand Shrine, and it's located in… eastern-ish Nara, across Nara Park from Todaiji (where the really huge statue of Buddha is). It's one of the older shrines in Nara, and was united philosophically-speaking with Kofuku Temple (Kofukuji), also in Nara, for a short period of time. I've been there, and have a lot of pictures - it's a really beautiful shrine that feels kind of isolated in the middle of these gorgeous woods. While I don't recall the exact layout of the area, I was able to piece together the area from my poor map (which has a huge hole in the middle of it, thanks to the crazy deer who tried to eat it) and realized that yes, I could indeed drop a Shinsengumi complex in near there. Might as well stick with an area that I've actually traveled in. (And so my secret's revealed! Yes, much of this story is based off my own speculation of what could have been possible during this time period, what not with the huge influx of Shinsengumi recruits after the Ikeda-ya incident. Nara's not far from Kyoto; I don't see any reason why the rebellion wouldn't have crept down that direction.)

Anyway. Kasuga Taisha does exist in Nara, and yes, there is a huge forest around it. If Kenshin hadn't been so down and out, there might've been a nice big chase-and-fight scene there on shrine grounds. ;3

sonno joi

I was silly to think that this was a common term, so I appreciate the fact that my beta asked me what it meant (hence the mini-translation within the story body), and I figured I might as well offer a better explanation for it here. Literally, it does mean “revere the emperor, and expel the barbarians (foreigners),” and it was indeed used as a motto for the Ishin Shishi during the Bakumatsu. But rather than being just a phrase, it became a way of thinking. The Ishin Shishi - in theory, mind you - was planning to overthrow the old system of the Shogunate (or bakufu), since the Tokugawa shoguns were losing power and some parts of society were falling to chaos. Some blamed this on the fact that foreign traders were being allowed into the country after a very long period of government-enforced isolation. At the time, the Japanese people were very suspicious of outsiders as a whole, and the fact that the Jesuit missionaries had not done the best job of introducing the West to Japan didn't help that fact. However, as time progressed and foreign pressure increased, the Shogun had made moves to open more ports to foreign trade as both an act of placating the West and also trying to catch up with the world. Because of this, merchants (who were technically rather low-class according to the social hierarchy) were getting richer, and most samurai were finding it harder to scrape by on their menial government-supplied salaries, much less try to keep up with social trends fueled by (no surprise) the merchant class. (And, of course, merchants were more than willing to boost the prices of “rare” foreign goods before they promoted them as trends.)

So basically, the ideal of sonno joi was very appealing to the samurai who were getting fed up with the current system and its abuse, and to those who were still supremely wary of foreigners and their goods. When the Ishin Shishi took it up as a battle cry of sorts, it was mostly a smack in the face to the bakufu, since it implied that they were using the Emperor merely as a puppet. Who, of course, the Ishin were using as well for their own ends - you all know that the Emperor merely serves as a puppet figurehead, right? Kind of like the Queen of England, but with even less political power.

Anyway. That's what sonno joi is: the general idea that there needs to be a “return to the old Japanese ways” of honoring the Emperor's power, and that the foreigners need to go. A bit of a Japanese-supremacist attitude, but that's just how it was at the time.

Sorry for the long wait for anyone who was looking for an update. This chapter was up over at FFnet (and before that, LiveJournal) some time ago, and again, forgot that I hadn't uploaded it here. D:

As always, comments are greatly appreciated! Thank you to the handful of you who have dropped a line so far.