Samurai Champloo Fan Fiction ❯ Nenju ❯ XXIX. Goes no one; ( Chapter 29 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Champloo or any of its affiliated characters, which belong to Manglobe/Shimoigusa Champloos. Neither do I own the haiku of Matsuo Basho (translation by R.H. Blyth, this chapter).

A/N: Bad languages, adult situations, that sort of thing.

Many thanks to my fantastical beta, FarStrider, who is fabulous and puts up with my writing freakouts, and without whom this story would have degenerated into a weird parody of itself long ago. All the good stuff’s hers, really.

Nenju


Stifling a yawn, Yatsuha rolled her shoulders and tried to remember the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep. Weeks ago, maybe months — it had been right before she and Hankichi’d caught up with the Ryukyuan and his companions in Motomachi; how long ago had that been? — and the constant watchfulness was beginning to take a toll on her. Anyone who’d had as little rest as she’d had was bound to do stupid things, she told herself. Any ninja knew that, and knew enough to rotate fresh teams in whenever possible to replace ones who’d been in the field for extended missions. It minimized the chance of stupid mistakes.

Certainly, any well-rested ninja would have been bright enough to keep from fucking the man they were following.

Hankichi, for instance, would have been able to avoid that trap easily, she decided; of course, there was that big mole that probably would have put Mugen off him. That, and the likelihood that Hankichi had a penis, deeply disturbing thought.

She smiled, looking down at her hands, rather than at either of the two men who were deep in conversation; Jinpachi liked Hankichi, she knew, and thought of him as a good ninja, which was the highest praise possible from her father. He would have been pleased if she’d taken up with Hankichi — and her mother would have been ecstatic at the idea of arranging the marriage, and then at dandling fat (though hopefully mole-free) babies on her lap. Hankichi wouldn’t have been his son by blood, but . . . he would have been an acceptable substitute.

He probably would not have understood how his daughter could have picked a criminal from the Ryukyus who’d committed multiple felonies over a Man with a Future: understandable, really. Yatsuha wasn’t particularly clear on that, herself.

It was clear to her, however, that her father wanted to finish this up, from the way he was politely nodding at the younger man as he made his report as to where he hadn’t found the Kasumi girl and her companions.

“Hm.” Jinpachi laced his hands together over his belly, leaning away from his writing desk, once Hankichi had finished speaking. “I met one of the foreign monks, once. Interesting man. He told me a story about an emperor of theirs from long ago, who realized they key to victory was to divide his enemies and then conquer them.”

“Divide?”

“Set them at each other’s throats, and they will be that much weaker,” the older man said. “They’ll be too busy fighting each other to notice you have them in the palm of your hand.”

Hankichi frowned. “How — I’m not sure it’s possible, to divide the girl and her yojimbo. The ronin, especially; he’ll know if we try something like that.”

“Given enough time, it’s possible to turn a man against anyone,” Jinpachi said placidly. “It’s not necessary to divide them, when there’s an easier way.” His eyes expectant, he beamed at them both.

Oh, she hated these little tests.

“The foreigners?” she asked. “But something’s bound to happen before we could drive a wedge between them. If we had more time, maybe.”

“Hm. It’s obvious that’s where they must be, yes. But I can see we need to spend some more time studying the Europeans. Possibly something more formal — a course of Dutch studies, perhaps? Their history in this country would be helpful to you,” her father said, scribbling a note for himself before setting the brush back down. “It might be worth looking into. No, I meant the Christians.”

“How?”

“There is more than one kind, apparently. The ones in this country are the same sort as the Portuguese traders and their monks, but the foreigners at Deshima are different. Don’t — “ Jinpachi held up his hand as Hankichi opened his mouth, “— ask me how they’re different, all that I know for sure is that they are. Apparently, the two kinds are prone to making war on each other: very useful, for our purposes.”

Yatsuha shook her head. “But they’re in Deshima. They’ve got to be. How can the two kinds be used against each other? The Europeans are locked up tight, they don’t have anything to do with the Christians here. Unless you plan to lure them out?”

Jinpachi’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not. We have nothing they want,” he said, as they looked at him blankly. “But we do have something the Europeans would be reluctant to give, and a way to get it to them.”

Weirdly, the first thing Mugen saw when he opened his eyes was a stack of wooden crates, the last thing he’d seen when he’d closed them the night before. He grunted blearily — it felt like his mouth had been filled up with rotting leaves, or fish scales or something equally disgusting, but not to the extent it would have been if he’d been blind drunk the night before. How was it that he was lying in the same position he’d fallen asleep in? That never happened, not ever, not even on Ikitsuki.

The writing on the crates — and how did the Europeans read that? He thought he recognized the character for ‘no’, but the rest of the markings had him at a loss. There was one that sort of looked like the torii gates that led to shrines — still in front of him, Mugen tried rolling upright, only to find that he was held fast to his makeshift futon by something heavy.

There was something incredibly warm against his back; it took a moment before he realized that this something was also breathing, and memory of the night before came flooding back.

Oh.

Right.

She was still holding onto him in her sleep, her fingers curled loosely against his ribs; carefully, he loosened her grip — there wasn’t any reason to wake her, and if she was asleep, the ronin would keep any questions about where Mugen had been the night before to himself for fear of waking her — and turned onto his back.

Fuu grumbled something and clutched at him reflexively, twining round him like a tenacious pink vine. It was hard to keep from smiling a little; she’d never been at her best first thing in the morning, and her hair was sticking out in the back in a manner that could only be described as . . . uh. Hilarious?

Mugen reached up and smoothed it back into place, before letting his fingers drift through the glossy hair behind her ear. In the time she’d walked away from them at the crossroads, she’d gone from skinny pest to a soft, pretty girl; he was shrewd enough to know it had probably begun before they’d separated, but he hadn’t seen it then.

She was brave, strong, resourceful, smelled good — well, most of the time, anyway — and from the slope of her hip as it curved away into her thigh, a night passed in her futon would be gratifying. And? She’d chosen him over Jin.

Yeah.
He was screwed.


Fuu woke only when Jouji clattered in.

She made a face as Mugen watched, her eyes scrunched shut against the sunlight as she stretched; he grunted as her elbow smacked him in the back — ow! — and she stopped dead. He gave her the widest, toothiest grin he could muster as her eyes snapped open, before reaching down to pat her ass. “Thought you didn’t want to, in front of Jin,” he murmured. “If you changed your mind — “

”You were cold, you jerk. And your feet were freezing.” She swung her legs off the pallet, tugging her kimono lower over her calves. The ronin was up, he saw, the man’s eyes fixed on the wall with apparent interest; Jouji, oblivious to the fact that Jin was looking everywhere but at Fuu, was opening a box he’d carried in, full of —

“You brought food!” Mugen shot off the pallet as the big man began handing out bowls filled with noodles and vegetables in broth.

“Also, I thought you might like the chance to bathe,” Jouji said mildly. “It has been a while, yes?”

“A real bath? Oh, Jouji — ” Fuu looked ready to faint, or throw herself at the foreigner in an enormous hug. “Now?”

“Not yet.” The European’s eyes gleamed. “How long do you think you will need?”

Fuu considered a moment, then said, “Jin and Mugen can go together, if that’s all right, then I’ll go after them. But someone’s going to see us going in, aren’t they?“

”Ah. I can’t stay here very long this morning without someone noticing, but I think it may be time for Pieter and I to practice our entertainment,” Jouji said. “It’s necessary that we have an audience for this — as many people as possible, so that we’re used to performing in front of a large number of people. We would not want to disgrace ourselves in front of the shogun, after all.”

Jin raised an enquiring eyebrow. “Entertainment?”

“Once a year, we go to Edo to meet with the shogun. That was where I was supposed to be, when I met all of you.” Jouji smiled. “We talk a little of trade, and then we sing some songs from my country, perhaps a few dances. We’re there to entertain, more than to discuss business.”

Mugen snickered, the idea of a row of officials sitting politely through an extended bout of Jouji-style enthusiasm striking him as deeply funny. “You’re gonna make them listen to you sing?”

“My deputy could use the practice. It may be necessary for us to go through some songs a few times,” the European said. “He has great difficulty with the high notes in ‘Greensleeves’ . . . it’s not Dutch, but a favorite of the shogun’s. Perhaps not of the interpreters, but then hearing one song fifty or sixty times will do that. Or it could be because we’re not very good.“

It was impossible to resist. Mugen let out a loud laugh, as Fuu choked on a mushroom and began to giggle; Jin gave a sharp, single chuckle. Jouji grinned back at them — it wasn’t that funny, but after the past few weeks, any light moment was a treasure.

“Fortunately, it will keep everyone occupied for some time,” he said, once Fuu’s giggles had subsided into the occasional hiccup. “There will still be guards at the gate, but if you are careful, you won’t be seen. There are workmen coming to build a new, stone bridge that will connect us to Japan, so they should be kept busy with them.”

“Thank you.” Jin chewed, swallowed. “Do the others know we are here?”

“The rest of the Dutch?” Jouji shook his head. “No. My deputy, Pieter, knows of you but not that I have you here. I’m sure he suspects, but he would never ask me outright. I will need to tell one of the ships’ captains, of course, when you decide where you should go. You do have a few days before then — the ships’ crews are only now being questioned by the government’s officials, but once they’ve finished, the ships will sail.”

Mugen scratched his back luxuriously, the meal warm and solid in his stomach. “How does that work? They bring this in, unload, then they’re back out?”

Jouji nodded. “For the most part, yes. The Company makes no profit from the ships while they’re anchored in the harbor here, so they don’t stay for long — two or three days, usually, then we’ll have a group of approved merchants in to bid on the cargo, and we do our buying then,” he said. “This time — the government is moving more slowly than they would normally, so it may be as long as four days. I doubt it would be longer: we may be confined to Deshima, but the shogun has a direct interest in what we can do for him.”

“I see.” The ronin set aside his bowl. “How have you kept everyone out of this building? You must have needed to make some excuse.”

The European gestured at a stack of crates. “That is my personal shipment — it’s expected of us that we have things shipped here, that we trade of our own accord. There’s a good market for Dutch books, which is what I have brought in: not just novels, but more informative books as well. I think this shipment is of books on the physical arts, the movement of blood through the body and things of that nature. The more useful a book is, the higher price it will bring at market,” he said. “Advance knowledge of which books I have would give the merchants an unfair advantage, so it’s not surprising I try to keep others out of the warehouse where they’re stored.”

“Four days, maybe,” Mugen said, rubbing his chin as he ignored the last point. If they were putting to sea — nah. Jin would probably want to shave, but it was hardly worth the effort. “And they go south?”

“To Batavia, yes.”

The Ryukyuan nodded. “What’s keeping your captain from turning us over?”

“I am. Also, the man I have in mind must go back home for some time. There is a question of a son in Rotterdam, born during the second year of a three-year voyage — he will be pleased to take you anywhere you wish to go.”

“As long as it’s south?”

“As long as it’s south.”

The water was already steaming by the time they got there.

Mugen was amused to see that Jouji had adopted his new country this completely; the baths were a little bigger, but were otherwise a lush duplicate of the one at Fuu’s rice merchant’s home back in Kyoto. He shucked off his clothes and scrubbed himself vigorously with a sponge, cadging a piece of pumice off Jin and scouring his hands twice before stepping into the water.

The ronin sluiced water over his back neatly, rinsing the soap off himself before he got into the soaking tub across from Mugen.

The Ryukyuan gave him a sour grin. “Enjoy it while you can — don’t know how many more of these you’ll have for a while.”

“Mm,” Jin agreed, closing his eyes. “There are no baths in Ryukyu?”

Mugen made a halfhearted obscene gesture; damn, he was tired. “Since when did we decide it was Ryukyu? I miss something?”

Even with his eyes closed, the ronin could still give off The Look, the one that made Mugen want to burp or pick his nose as rudely as possible. “About Ryukyu? No.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mugen’s eyebrows drew together. The longer he’d sat at the counter the night before, the more he’d gone in circles about what the hell was going on with them; they hadn’t sounded like they thought of each other as friends, but — shit. Fuu hadn’t sounded as if she even liked the other man. Not that that meant anything, he knew.

“She’s no fool,” Jin told him. “And neither is the other one.”

Mugen grunted. “So, what then? I already knew that.”

The ronin was quiet a moment, then: “She has her own reasons for being this stubborn, but those will only take you so far. It would be incredibly foolish to throw her away for a woman you’ve met a handful of times, who may have killed Bundai and would kill you as well.”

The Ryukyuan shook his head. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t her. Maybe the old guy, or the guy with the mole. She’d think it was rude or something, I dunno. It just wouldn’t be like her.”

“Hn.”

“Anyway, you tried killing me a lot, so I don’t see why you’re bitching.”

“Fuu would cry. And it would be tedious if you were to die as stupidly as you live.”

“That’s good, coming from you.” Mugen submerged himself one last time, then climbed out of the tub, wiping water from his face.

The ronin’s eyebrows lifted. “If you intend to keep this from Fuu, you’ll need to be more careful than that,” he said, nodding toward the bite mark on Mugen’s hip as he got out.

“You gonna tell her?”

“No.” Neatly, Jin wrung the water out of his hair, before leaving it loose to dry.

“Why not?” Mugen asked, genuinely curious. “You’d get what you want.”

“That isn’t what I want.” When Mugen gave him a questioning look, Jin added, “There’s a difference between not yours and mine.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Hn.” Jin turned his back and began to shave.

The Ryukyuan shrugged, and put on his clothes. The haori and gi had dried after Fuu had hung them up, but the salt from the ocean water scraped roughly against his skin; he shook the water out of his hair, running his fingers through the unruly mass. “She’ll figure it out on her own, anyway.”

“If she hasn’t already.” The ronin tied his hakama efficiently. “We do have other considerations, however.”

“Like figuring out where we’re going? Because that would be good.”

“Ah,” Jin acknowledged this with a dip of his head. “I meant the time until we’re at sea. I doubt it’s coincidence that the government is moving more slowly to allow the merchants in to bid.”

“You ever met a fast civil servant?”

“Kariya.”

“Huh. Yeah, I s’pose.”

“And they’re aware we’re in Nagasaki — it’s a matter of time before they can find a way in here,” Jin said, as they slipped out the door. “We need to maintain our focus.”

Mugen nodded. “Yeah.”

“Hn.”

They walked companionably past a building from which horrible sounds were issuing, almost like dogs being stepped on repeatedly, but worse. “You got any idea what the twins gave her?” Mugen asked.

“Absolutely no idea.”


He had some respite from the questions he knew were coming when she hurried off for her bath, but not for long; as soon as Fuu set foot inside the warehouse, her hair clinging damply to her cheek, Jin nodded at him and set off to practice his kata at the other end of the building.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a toad,” she told him, conversationally. “You know that?”

He snorted. “Heard that before,” he said. “You got a reason why?”

Fuu walked up to him; leaning in, she gave him an exaggerated sniff.

“Could’ve asked Jin, you wanted to know if I had a bath.”

She stepped back. “I’m not sure which is worse,” she said. “That you were doing something that made you smell so much like her that you knew I’d smell it unless you soaked yourself in the harbor, or that you tried to keep it from me.”

Mugen shoved his hands in his pockets. “You sure about any of this?”

“I’m leaning more toward trying to keep it from me,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I could understand if you saw her and something happened. I know I haven’t been — it’s been a long time for you, I get that, so maybe I shouldn’t complain. But trying to hide it? It makes me wonder if you want it to happen again.”

He sighed and sat on the floor. The ronin was taking his sweet time, he thought sourly; polite bastard. “So, what now?”

Fuu reached out then and flicked him in the forehead, making him blink. The hell? “That depends on you,” she said. “I’m not just going to hand you over, unless that’s what you want.”

“Mm.” When it came down to it, Jin was right. Yatsuha was the shogun’s creature through and through, he thought. What did he expect from a woman so intent on what she did that she’d willingly spend a year as a whore to do it — that she’d throw over her friends and her family to take up with a felon from Ryukyu? He was stupid even to have been drinking sake with her.

It wasn’t as if Yatsuha’d been the one to dry him off and keep him warm while he slept.

Mugen held his hand out to her. “Fine,” he said, as she sat down inside the semicircle of his arm. “Stubborn bitch.”

She made a low, amused sound in her throat, wrinkling her nose.

He reached up and scratched his fingers affectionately through the hair at the nape of her neck. “Heard you and Jin talking last night, a little. Something you want to tell me?”

“Hm? No. We just talked.”

“Sounded serious.”

She cocked her head to the side, her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement as she smiled. “You were listening?”

“Not long.”

Fuu shook her head. “It wasn’t — we talked about his dojo, a little. That was all,” she told him.

“Huh.” His fingers slowed, as he looked at her thoughtfully.

He wondered if she even knew that she was lying.