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Sundial: Chapter 3 - Beshimi

by Angrybee ::: 09.Feb.2004

"Shinomori."

"Yes?"

"Wake up, you are in danger."

I grit my teeth. I have to put an end to this. This can't continue.

"In danger of -what-?"

"DANGER. DANGER DANGER DANGER DANGER."

I'm sinking. No, I'm being pulled underneath. Water is filling my lungs as I slip further and further into the depths. The darkness which surrounds me reflects my rotten soul. No light can penetrate hell. There are no fires here, no screaming, no eternal pain and torture.

Just nothing. Just a numbness which penetrates every cavity, leaving an inanimate object barely able to even sense it is alive.

Hell is sinking blindly through the dark, dark ocean, and never finding the bottom.

Once all of the air is gone from your lungs, even the bubbles cease to keep you company.

And then I hear it, this -terrible- noise, like a ship hitting an iceberg. A tearing sound that reverberates inside me, right beyond my sternum. It sounds like a thousand bones being broken at once.

There isn't supposed to be any sound in hell.

Something grabs me by my hair. What kind of torture is this? This is new. I'm rather anticipating the physical pain. Physical pain is a colorful kite festival compared to my being alone with my mind.

The next thing I know, I'm being yanked upwards. My flesh burns cold as it is assaulted by crisp air, gnawing away at my numbness. The water splatters all around me, cascades of drips that now sound like river rapids to my sensitive ears.

I sputter, cough, and begin to breathe once again.

One eye opens to find exactly the person I did not want to see this morning.

Damn.

Hiko Seijuro has a smugly vain look on his face as he lets go of my hair, dropping me back into the tub. Tidal waves of frigid bath water are sent over the edges, splashing onto the floor.

I glance to Hiko's right. How nice. He's torn the bathhouse door off of its hinges. Somehow, I know this is my fault.

"Most real men have the common decency to fall on their swords somewhere away from prying eyes, Shinomori. Drowning yourself at home leaves a whole lot of mess for the womenfolk to clean up."

What? No wait. I'm pretty sure I didn't try to kill myself. Did I?

I might have.

I can figure this out. Time works in a linear fashion. So. Climbing the mountain, coming back down the mountain, talking to Okon and Omasu, Hiko's boisterous entrance, strawberries for Misao, bath...

Bath.

Oh. "I fell asleep in the bath."

Hiko's expression doesn't change. He just crosses his arms underneath that enormous mantle of his, and continues to glare at me. "You've got ghosts, boy. You'd best get that cleared up, quick. I've seen what ghosts can do to a man."

What? How does he know that?

No. He doesn't know. He's just using that legendary Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu perceptiveness to make a generalization about my mental state. Whatever Himura was able to figure out at Mt. Hiei, Hiko probably realizes twice as keenly.

What I want to say is, "Go away. This isn't something you can cure with your hermit's wisdom and a jug of sake, you egotistical old fossil." The fact that I even consider such a thing disturbs me. Few people are able to provoke such a response on my part. Not even Himura.

Instead, I stand up and climb out of the bath, naked as the day I was born. (Well, assuming that I -was- born, and not spontaneously generated in the middle of a forest clearing by sadistic demons. Frankly, as my life progresses, I'm considering this to be more and more of a possibility.) If Hiko thinks he can be the only person in control of a situation, he is -dead- wrong. And if he wants to glare at me, he can glare at my naked backside.

I find my dry yukata and pull it on. My feet are so cold, I'm a bit worried about stumbling, but to my surprise, something goes right for once, and I don't. Poise and grace appear to be on my side for the moment.

Without turning around, I ask, "Anything else?"

That should irk him.

"Aa," he replies, not sounding the slightest bit annoyed. As soon as I turn to face him, he's heading towards the hole that used to be the shoji. "Come back to the mountain sometime. We'll spar. I'm certain it will be more interesting than watching my baka deshi continually butcher the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu."

And then Hiko Seijuro is -gone-.

Unfortunately, unlike Hyotokko and Shikijo, the old hermit probably won't stay gone for as long as I would like.

I suppose normal people would be giddy, ecstatic, overjoyed that they'd been spared from drowning, even if it -was- by the irascible recluse who taught kenjutsu to the man who most recently defeated you in a duel. Hm. Well, I'll make that judgment when I get to the -end- of today. I'd say there is a greater than fifty percent chance I'm going to end up wishing he'd left me alone to die in my sleep.

I briefly consider the fact that Hiko has been here all night. Probably in Okon and Omasu's room. But, in this, at least, I am not worried. Hiko may be fantastically strong, but he'd never do anything perverted where our injured Oniwabanshuu ladies are concerned.

Deciding to fuss with the broken shoji later, I head back to my room. The sun has just -barely- poked her head over the horizon, casting the courtyard in otherworldly hues. No one is awake yet, though I'm finding it hard to believe they all slept through Hiko's destruction of Aoiya property.

My room is where it should be, which is good. When I first came back from Mt. Hiei, my room wasn't always where it should have been. I thought the other Aoiya residents were playing tricks on me. Sometimes hallucinating the absence of things is more confusing than seeing things which aren't supposed to be there at all.

First, get dressed.

A clean uniform is laying on the chair. Well, that debunks my theory that either Okon or Omasu puts it there. Neither of them has been out of their rooms since yesterday morning. I get dressed quickly. Much to do today.

Trenchcoat. Check

Kodachis. Check.

Sundial...

Sundial?

Where is my sundial? I check all seven pockets of my trenchcoat. I check those same pockets -again-. It isn't there. It isn't on the dresser. Almost frantic, I throw back the blankets on my futon. Not there -either-.

And then I hear it, that unmistakable laughter coming from just beyond the shoji, "Kekekekeke...".

Ah. Beshimi.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Beshimi was the last to join our tribe, and remained the lowest ranked of the four of my dead friends throughout his career with the Oniwabanshuu. Nonetheless, I've always respected Beshimi as one of the most clever men I know.

Even if he is a kleptomaniac.

I remember that day quite clearly, even if I can't remember how I ended up in the marketplace with Misao-chan. Possibly, I went to go to get my kodachi repaired, and Okina asked me to take her along. At any rate, I seem to recall that I spent a good part of the afternoon saying only one word.

"Aoshi-sama, look, birds for sale. Birds!"

"Aa."

"Look, look, purple flowers!"

"Aa."

"Aoshi-sama, did you see that woman? She was as big as Shikijo-kun!"

"Aa."

"Can Misao ride on your back, Aoshi-sama? She's sleepy!"

"Aa."

I bent down on one knee for Misao to climb on my back. It was just easier to carry her than to try to control where she walked. Misao weighed next to nothing, anyway.

But, as I stood back up, a strange looking man bumped into me. Just a light touch, I hardly even noticed it as he brushed past my shoulder.

"G..gomen..." he muttered, continuing down the road.

Misao wriggled on my back, craning her head from her bird's eye view to watch the man's retreat. Suddenly, she dug her dangling feet into my sides to get my attention. "Aoshi-sama! Aoshi-sama! That man took your sundial!"

Looking down, I found that the object which usually hung around my neck was, indeed, missing.

This annoyed me for two reasons. The first, obviously, was the fact that I had been robbed. And the second was that Misao realized it before -I- did.

"Hold on Misao."

We tore through the marketplace after the thief. I think Misao was screaming something to the people in the market, but I was concentrating on catching up to the quick little man who wove through the crowd like a drunken bee. Thankfully, I have longer legs, and for every two steps he took, I only had to take one. Even with Misao on my back, I finally caught up to him in a back alley and cornered him against a wall.

The little man had hair like blackened rice sprouts, eyes with slitted pupils that reminded me of a feral animal, and a peanut-shaped head. Basically, he wasn't a pretty man by any means, but nonetheless strikingly memorable. He backed up against the wall as I strode into the alley, looking right and left for a means of escape.

"You have something of mine."

"D...don't know...what you mean..." He crouched down, making himself even smaller.

"Return the item."

"Get lost!"

I opened the flap of my trenchcoat and put my hand on the hilt of my kodachi. This would probably get ugly now. I hated to attack someone just for thievery. Many people who stole, these days, were just trying to get along or were ordered to do so. I mean, I'm a ninja, it isn't like I haven't had to pilfer a few things in my time.

As soon as I drew, the little guy jumped into the air. My kodachi sprung from the hilt, but I slashed too low, catching only the space where his feet had been. I felt certain that his tactic would be to jump over me while my kodachi was still low, but I had completely forgotten by that point that Misao was on my shoulders, making me a good two feet taller.

So, instead of jumping over me, he raised one hand and caught hold of the roof's edge. And then, like lightning, three darts appeared in his fingers and flew towards me. I avoided the first, deflected the second with my kodachi, I thought the third would miss completely but...

My spinning had caused Misao's foot to fly outwards. The dart sunk into her ankle, and she screamed as she let go of me, falling to the ground with a light thud.

I could have killed him then. I would have killed him, too. But, as I yanked him from the roof and held him aloft, my kodachi at his neck, he stuttered, "Don't kill me...the girl...poison..."

Poison. Misao would die if I killed him. And finally, after shaking the ugly man quite violently, he sputtered an admission that he had the antidote back at his camp.

So, carrying him under my left arm, and Misao over my right shoulder, we went.

For most of the trip, Misao remained lucid, though I could hear her breathing getting heavier and heavier. I followed the man's instructions to the outskirts of town, a dingy neighborhood, one filled with the lowest sorts of scoundrels and vagabonds. We arrived at a camp containing a handful of well-traveled tents in a circle. At the center, men and women practiced ancient arts meant to entertain. Fire-breathing, juggling, acrobatics. Ostensibly, I knew this must be some sort of circus, but it was a circus fallen on hard times, indeed.

Our arrival drew a rush of interested parties. But, true to his word, the little man set to work right away on administering the antidote. I laid Misao on a nearby table. She had a bit of a blue tint to her skin, but seemed to be alright. If I said her name, she'd squeeze my hand. She drank the murky liquid, promptly burped, and turned on her side to go to sleep.

"You could have killed her," I said.

"Yes, but I meant to kill -you-," he replied.

As I looked around at the silent faces of the performers, I asked, "You'd risk your life for the theft of a bauble?"

"You'd risk your life to have it returned?" He took a deep breath and sat down on the table next to Misao. Exhaling slowly, as if cleansing his body of his misdeed, he continued to speak. "Look, I don't want to hurt kids. I don't want to hurt anyone. But, we have no food. We can't perform if we are too weak, and if we can't perform, we can't make money to buy more food. I am the leader of this troop, and as the leader, it is my responsibility to do what needs to be done for their safety. If I have to steal, if I have to kill, if I have to become the most despicable of worms to keep my men alive, then I will."

I sat beside the man, glaring at him with all my might. I tried to see into his brain, to discern the timbre of his mind with mere sight. Finally, I said, "Your name?"

"Beshimi."

"Beshimi, you are a good man. But, you're an absolutely horrible leader."

He gave me the same look that most generals have when they've just been insulted by the opposing force, "What in the hell? I just saved your little friend! You...ungrateful..."

"Look," I said, holding up one hand in an attempt to calm him, "You've confused self-sacrifice with leadership. You can suffer all you want, but until you organize, until you take control of these people and actually -lead- them, you can not expect to do more than merely exist. To come up with poisons and antidotes, to have built this operation, you must have a decent mind. Why not use your head, and come up with a more valuable goal than mere day to day existence?"

"Don't you think I haven't thought about that? But, there isn't anything. Nothing can be done!" Beshimi jumped up onto the table, making himself taller than me. "That is the way the world works. You scrape out a life, and you can hope for nothing more."

"I would not follow a man who can promise no more than the most meager of existence. Nor would I follow a man who will sacrifice himself at any moment. Because, one day, such a man would be gone, killed for the little he promised me. Then I would be left with even less, and forced to continue without even the memory of a great leader's lofty goals to keep me going."

"Well, then, if you know so much..." Beshimi put his hands on his hips. I waited for him to spew the words I'd lured him to say. "What would -you- do?"

"You should join me. Your people, too, if they wish. We could use your talent. You will be fed, clothed, and trained. And it will certainly be safer than stealing from the Oniwabanshuu."

The last word rippled through the ranks. Oniwabanshuu. Few people in Kyoto didn't know the meaning behind that word. I thought I saw a brief shimmer of fear pass through Beshimi's eyes, but the strange little man hid it by looking up at the sky. "And, what do you want in return, hm?"

"Just your loyalty, your dedication and...my sundial."

So, Beshimi ended up joining the Oniwabanshuu that day. With him came several others, among them the jugglers called 'Kuro' and 'Shiro'. It is quite amazing how easily you can go from tossing balls to tossing shuriken. And Beshimi's expertise in knife and dart throwing made him quite valuable.

Misao healed up quickly, as always. She spent the next few weeks running around, showing everyone the bandage on her leg and telling them she'd been in a "circus accident" involving a tiger and some rampaging elephants. Well, I suppose it was better than the truth.

I, however, was scolded for days on end by Okina for getting Misao injured. Not that I minded much. It -was- my fault, after all. And, I'd already learned pretty well how to tune out Okina's voice. The old Okashira was right. Meditation -can- do wonders for your disposition, especially when used to ignore loud old men who wish to constantly reiterate that your young ward is not to be involved in stupid fights over stolen sundials.

You would think that everything turned out fine and dandy. But, over the next few weeks, random objects began to disappear from Oniwabanshuu headquarters. Small things went missing, at first. Okon's best combs. Okina's little bow for his beard. Kuro's favorite sake bowl. No one thought much of it at the time. A rash of misplaced items could easily be explained away.

But, the disappearances continued. Hannya's dragon mask, which he wore sometimes instead of the oni mask, -gone-. Hyotokko's best chopsticks. Omasu's little spice pots. Shiro's juggling fans. Shikijo's favorite paintbrush. Vanished. Finally, when my yukata belts -all- disappeared simultaneously, I'd decided it was -enough-.

The only two people who hadn't had anything stolen, were Beshimi...and Misao. I could just imagine what would happen if Misao's training kunai disappeared. I'm a fairly stalwart and stoic person, but even -I- can't endure -that- much wailing.

And so, deduction led me to the culprit. Beshimi.

Sheepishly, Beshimi looked down at the floor, rubbing his toes against the tatami as I confronted him. He looked guilty, he -smelled- guilty. The Oniwabanshuu's new member shrugged his shoulders slightly and whispered, "Ah, Aoshi-sama, I have a problem, you see."

"A problem?"

"Sometimes, even though I don't mean to, I just have to take things. I don't mean any harm by it. Something catches my eye, and the next thing you know, it is in my hand. But, you can always have everything back. I'll always put them right here..." Beshimi bent down and slid open a cabinet. He pulled out a small wooden trunk and lifted the lid, revealing everything lost. From Hannya's mask to my belts, from chopsticks to combs, all the missing items lay inside. "So, if you find something missing, please just come and check here and take it back. I'm very sorry, but I just...can't help myself."

Now, it isn't often that I find anything uproariously amusing. Or even -mildly- amusing. But, on that day, after grabbing my yukata belts and walking back to my room without another word, I just had to let out a small laugh.

Of all the problems a man could have, loss of limb or love, addiction to opium or predilection towards violence, poor Beshimi just liked to take pretty little things and put them in a box in his room.

After a while, it became sort of a running joke among the Oniwabanshuu. Something missing? Check Beshimi's treasure box. Everyone gave him grief about it, but only in jest. Since he'd always allow you to take back whatever he stole, the harm in his little problem was negligible. And, in some small way, I think he liked it. He had this mysterious smile which would cross his lips whenever you came to get something back. I never understood it.

And no one -ever- caught him in the act. It was always -afterwards-. He was a very -good- thief, at least. Among ninjas, that is something in which you can take at least a little pride.

Strange, though, he never stole a single thing from Misao. I guess it was his way of apologizing for the poison dart. But, I can't say for certain. I never really did fully comprehend the complex and tangled mind of Beshimi.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Beshimi!!!"

I slide open the shoji of my room to find Hannya leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, fingers strumming against striped sleeve. Even with his mask on, I can tell he's upset. With his head, he motions towards the ceiling at the end of the hall, where I spy Beshimi precariously balanced on one of the beams.

"Where is it, Beshimi?"

Beshimi rolls forward, letting his body dangle down from the beam, his weight supported by his knees. "Where is what, Okashira?"

My glance leaves Beshimi only for an instant as I watch Hannya out of the corner of my eye. He's already upset about something. I don't want to chance upsetting him further. It could be unpleasant, not only for me, but for the Aoiya as a whole. "You know exactly what I am talking about. Produce it, or..."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about, Okashira, I'm sorry."

"Then why were you laughing?"

Beshimi moves his shoulders, causing him to swing from side to side like an absurd monkey. "Just having a bit of a laugh at Hannya's expense. He's upset because the mountain man got to spend the night with Okon and Omasu, drinking and having fun, and he didn't. Oh, poor, poor Hannya. Never gets the girls..."

Hannya flexes his fingers. I'm not even sure if the man has teeth, but if he does, he's probably grinding them. "Shut -up- Beshimi, or I swear..."

I -would- have to be left with the two ghosts that can't seem to get along.

"I will crack open that oddly shaped head of yours and have your brains for breakfast with a side of sake served in your hollowed-out skull..."

No, Hannya would never do that. For all his threats, he's never once hurt Beshimi. Hannya did get him drunk, dressed him as a chicken, and left him in the middle of Kyoto once. But, Hannya would never actually hurt him. The evidence of that is clear enough. Beshimi would be dead if Hannya ever made good on his threats.

Oh wait. Beshimi -is- dead. They both are. I keep -forgetting- that.

"Hannya, calm down." He's the easiest one to persuade. All I have to do is even insinuate we're on a mission, and Hannya sobers right up. "We have work. Focus."

I've snapped. I've absolutely snapped. And Hannya, he has to know something is wrong. Oh, please, please don't let him ask me. Without my sundial, everything is just off-kilter. This morning isn't starting well. I'm dreading the -rest- of the day. Hiko Seijuro is a sake-swilling curse upon this planet's face. I hope he trips on that mantle of his and falls into his kiln, face first. (Did I just think that? Kami-sama, Shinomori, do you have to wish ill on -everyone- you encounter?) But, five more minutes, and I wouldn't have had to deal with this. Five minutes was all that stood between drowning in neverending silence and having absurd conversations with the ghost of my kleptomaniac friend.

"Beshimi..."

"Okashira."

I will not be upset. I will not yell at him. He didn't mean to take it. If I yell at him, I might lose my control. If I lose my control... There does not need to be a repeat of yesterday's events. Breathe evenly, Shinomori. Breathe. I close my eyes and count to ten.

"Beshimi..."

"Beshimi, Aoshi-sama?" Misao's voice stings the back of my neck like a scorpion.

"Oh, hey..." Hannya loses his threatening tone, "She's getting pretty good at hiding her presence. Misao-chan is so clever. I taught her well."

Yes. Clever. Perhaps -too- clever for her own good. How did she sneak up on me? I didn't even notice... Alright, I suppose I -was- mildly preoccupied with my own insanity.

"No, Hannya, -I- taught her that," Beshimi declares.

Argh. I wish I'd never let them train her to -do- things like that. If only my friends weren't so tragically incorporeal, I think I would strangle them both.

As their argument erupts, I open my eyes and turn around. Misao is in her sleeping yukata, and her hair is down. She has a lot more hair than you'd think. I'm not sure how that braid thing works exactly, but it definitely defies the laws of science. She's looking up at me through sleepy eyes, and her breath smells like strawberries.

"I miss Beshimi too, Aoshi-sama," she whispers.

Thankfully, Hannya and Beshimi are too involved in their war of words to notice Misao speaking of them in the past tense.

A little tear forms at the corner of Misao's eye. Oh. Oh no. Is she going to cry? What in the hell am I supposed to do in this situation? I'm not trained for this. This is definitely beyond my range of control. Can I just tell her to stop? Or will that make her more upset? Now I'm almost wishing Hiko hadn't left. He's probably good with emotional women. I vaguely wonder if Himura cried often as a child. I mean, he wouldn't cry now, but...

Why are you thinking about Himura, Shinomori? Pay attention. Get control.

You should slap her!

No, I don't think that work either. I'm pretty sure striking Misao is not the appropriate answer. So, I just say, "Misao..."

She smiles a bit and blinks away the half-formed tear. Good. Very good. I note for future reference that saying Misao's name helps combat the onset of tears. Misao looks suddenly a bit embarrassed, she shifts her weight as she chews at her bottom lip, "Um, thanks for the strawberries, Aoshi-sama. Would you like some breakfast? Because I'm still hungry and I was going to make some..."

"Misao-chan can cook?" Beshimi asks.

"Of course she can cook," Hannya replies, rolling his eyes, "She's a woman. They're all born with the knowledge. That, and the innate ability to pleasure a man."

Even -I- am disgusted by Hannya's last comment, even though he's just joking. He can probably sense I'm tense and is trying to diffuse the situation. Without thinking, I reply, "Extremely foul..." But, I catch myself before I say Hannya's name.

Of course, Misao thinks I am talking about breakfast. She stumbles backwards a bit, her bottom lip quivering. I'm almost sure that I've just undone any positive progress I made in keeping her from crying. Strangely, however, my words don't seem to draw tears. Misao just regroups and tries again. "Well, if you aren't hungry, that's okay. I still have to make some food for Okon and Omasu. I could just make you some hot tea, if you like."

Actually, as refreshing as that sounds after a night in a cold bath and losing my sundial, I have too much to do. "No. I'm going out."

"Oh?" Misao tilts her head quizzically, blinking at me like some sort of clockwork doll, "To the temple?"

"No."

"Where then?"

No one else in the entire Oniwabanshuu would have asked me that question. Not Okina. Not even my dead comrades. Misao asks because she's worried about me, and probably because she already suspects that I'm looking for Okon and Omasu's attackers. She suspects, and she wants to know what I know, because she wants to go and handle it -herself-. See, I may not know much about people, but I do know Misao looks out for me. As a child, I watched out for her, and now, I guess, she thinks it is her turn to look after me. She's trying so hard to save me from myself, and yet doesn't even have the slightest clue what that entails.

"Business," I say, hoping she won't press the issue. Like I would really tell her anything. I may be insane now, but if Misao ended up like Okon and Omasu... Well, I don't know what would happen, but it would -not- be pretty.

"Business where?"

Do the questions NEVER end with Misao?

"Where?" she asks again.

She has to stay here. I can't have her snooping around or tagging along and getting hurt. "Stay here and look after Okon and Omasu."

"But, Aoshi-sama..."

"It's an order, not a request, Misao." I brush past her, knowing that further convincing will not be necessary. She has a good heart, Misao does, but she rarely remembers to look before she leaps.

Hannya approves, and makes it known by walking next to me as we leave. Beshimi, on the other hand, sighs noisily before following. However, he won't express the reasons for his discontent unless I ask.

And I'm not going to ask.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The weather is pleasant enough, I suppose. However, it could be freezing, and I probably wouldn't notice. I have to stay calm. I have to pretend like absolutely nothing is amiss.

But, my sundial...

Without it, I am nobody. I am not the Okashira. I am no leader. I am just a pathetic soul which needs to be put out of his misery.

Kyoto remains blissfully quiet at this hour. The morning's lingering coolness will ensure that the man I go to visit will not have left for the outskirts of town yet. My trip remains blissfully free of violence, but the hallucinations make it hard to walk. I keep seeing the ground beneath my feet split and crack, as if it were merely a thin veil covering a chasm underfoot. Around me, buildings and fences become blurs and whirls, insubstantial fronts which only barely shield my eyes from some fantastic hell beyond their walls.

The thread is fraying. Is this what Himura feels like when he is close...close to losing himself to the assassin within? Does that man see ghosts? Are they, perhaps, the ones who compel him to do laundry all day? Do they force him to eat Kamiya-san's infamous cooking? I feel sorry for him. He's probably got angrier ghosts than I have. At least mine usually take directions.

Beshimi pulls me from my thoughts by clicking his tongue as we approach a more shady side of the marketplace. "Aha. I should have known."

The building before me is a complex mish-mash of colors and styles. It looks like a row of decaying slums, all tightly pressed together into one long complex. Broken windows, decaying beams, roof tiles slipping out of place, all of these things serve to decorate one of the best-hidden secrets in Kyoto.

Hachinisasareru headquarters.

At the end of the building, a sign barely legible due to a decade of built up grime reads: Tojiro Apothecary.

I step into what appears to be the tiniest, most squalid medicine shop in all of Kyoto. The youthful clerk looks at me, blinks a few times, and asks, "May I help you?"

"Tojiro. Tell him Shinomori is here."

The clerk balks slightly in recognition of my name, and then disappears behind a curtain. It will take him some time, I know, before he returns, so I busy myself by looking around the shop. The Oniwabanshuu have the Aoiya as a front, and the Hachinisasareru have their apothecary. No one would come here looking for anything, not with how overpriced everything in the front room is. Still, the trained eye would be able to pick up the importance of some of the things here. There are two huge glass jars on the counter, containing snakes from Australia pickled in a yellowish brine. Smaller paper boxes rustle slightly as spiders and scorpions the size of a man's hand make their presence known. Dried blowfish hang from the ceiling, like spiked beige balloons of some deadly celebration. They intermingle with giant mushrooms which have been sliced, then pressed flat to remove the liquid, and hung on long wires to finish the drying process.

All normal medicines, herbs, flowers, and roots, have been relegated to a series of brightly colored shelves on the eastern wall. They are dusted often, but you can't fool me. No one comes here to buy anything off those shelves.

This is an apothecary, alright...if your idea of relieving someone's suffering entails killing them with the most potent poisons known to man.

The Hachinisasareru, as I have mentioned, are one of the Oniwabanshuu's oldest and most trusted allies. Their -true- headquarters, however, is hidden in a mountainous region in the north, where they cultivate deadly animals, insects, and plants from all around the world. This apothecary, here in Kyoto, is merely a warehouse for supplies smuggled in through Osaka, and a recruiting station for new personnel.

The clerk returns, followed by the man I've come to see. Okashira Tojiro stands only a few inches shorter than me, but with a regal bearing which always catches me off-guard. I always forget how charismatic he can seem up close. But, when not in his presence, he's a singularly forgettable man. Small brown eyes, framed by his western glasses, are the only distinguishing feature of his otherwise unremarkable face. His age is hard to discern, and there is a running bet among his men to get him to divulge the secret. But, as well as I know him, I place Tojiro at approximately ten or fifteen years older than me.

He told me once that the secret to keeping your skin from aging could be found in a face cream made with blowfish poison. I think I'll just take his word for it.

A cloth mask hangs around his neck, one used to protect his mouth and nose from whatever poisons or chemicals he might be playing with today. Tojiro tears it off and hands it to the clerk as he approaches.

"Shinomori, good to see you," he says, smiling warmly as he bows. Being both men of knowledge, and the world, it would be proper to shake his hand. But, we're also ninjas. And ninjas don't shake hands with other ninjas, no matter how much you trust them.

Beshimi looks up from a rack of vials. He's been salivating over the poisons since we arrived. If he were alive, he'd have stolen a few by now. (And later I'd receive a very nicely-worded letter from Tojiro regarding some recent additions to my bill.) "Ah, Tojiro-san looks the same as always, don't you think, Hannya?"

Hannya shrugs. I get the impression that he's never been overly fond of Tojiro.

"What brings you here, hm? A couple of troublesome Aoiya patrons going to be going home with virulent stomachaches? Or is this, perhaps, about our young Gouko and the lovely Omasu-san?" Tojiro flashes me a winning grin, "Well, come, come, let us speak in my office, ne? I've been wanting to show you some books which have recently arrived from overseas. You'll be particularly interested in some of the European science manuals..."

Tojiro continues to speak as he leads me through the labyrinthine halls of the complex. On the outside, certainly, it looks like the building is falling apart. But, once inside it is a maze of well-tended laboratories, training halls, and personal quarters. About a dozen men and women live here at any given time, and from what I understand, business is booming for the Hachinisasareru. Poisons and medicines, drugs and salves. The place vaguely reminds me of Kanryuu's mansion on a smaller and more practical scale. We pass one laboratory with the door open, and I spy three men inside, all hard at work at pouring this flask into that one, boiling liquids, and studying complicated charts bearing mathematical symbols.

Frankly, it's a bit creepy. I'm very glad these guys are on my side.

We reach Tojiro's office. It contains an overabundance of bookshelves, but is otherwise suitably furnished with a western desk and several haggard-looking orchids. He offers me a chair, and I sit, waiting for him to finish showing off his new books. He's quite proud to be an educated man. I've been told that his mother was a very low prostitute, and his father unknown. The unfortunate circumstances of his birth cause Tojiro to look upon every accomplishment as one more step away from his lowly beginnings.

And now he is Okashira of the Hachinisasareru.

Good for him.

Beshimi, quite taken with the books, makes small comments about how the library in this office alone must be worth a fortune. Sad to say, but my own library contains only a third as many books, many of which are manuals of war. In the ways of science, Tojiro has me beat, hands down.

Hannya stands behind me, arms crossed and silent.

"But, here I am babbling about my acquisitions and not at all being a proper host. Shall I bring tea, Shinomori-san?"

"No." I put my hands on his desk, and lean forward a bit as he finally sits. "I've come because of Omasu..."

"Oh yes!" Tojiro beams at me, his teeth revealed by his smile, "I thought that might be it. We all adore her here, and Gouko... You mustn't be worried about Gouko, Shinomori, he's an upstanding lad. He'd never do anything untoward, never be fresh, I assure you..."

"Yes. I trust you in that matter, but..." My face feels exceptionally hot. This room is suddenly stuffy, and I fear I might soon break into a sweat. My sundial. Without it, my confidence is shot. Steady, Shinomori, steady. "Omasu and Okon were attacked yesterday. Both were beaten soundly."

"My word...are they...."

"They'll be fine. The attackers, however, we looking for me. Whomever they are, they know all about the Aoiya and the Oniwaban. That is why I am here. I need to you keep your ears and eyes open. If you find out who they are, don't engage them. Your men aren't trained for battle with such beasts."

Tojiro nods, his amiable smile long since replaced with a solemn look of concern. "Any clues?"

"Nothing of note," I reply. We speak together for a few more minutes, of possibilities and plans. Tojiro pledges his support without hesitation. It is by the hospices and protection of the Oniwaban that the Hachinisasareru can continue their efforts within Kyoto. Without our help, they would have never been able to establish a stronghold here, and without our continued patronage, the police would have long since sent them packing.

A silence passes between us, and I can see Tojiro's thoughts grinding in his head. "Shinomori?"

"Aa?"

"You look pale. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

I dodge the question by looking out the small grime-covered window above his desk, "I should go. I have other things..."

"Of course. Of course. This is a horrible affair, indeed. I'm sure you have much to do. Shall I see you out?"

"No," I reply, bowing as I stand, "I've long since learned the way." With one last nod to Tojiro, I step into the hall, my dead friends following quietly behind. As we make our way through the maze of hallways, Beshimi walks up next to me. His head is tilted upwards, and he is glaring at me meaningfully, just waiting for my permission to speak.

'What is it, Beshimi?' I ask mentally.

"I don't like this, Okashira. What you are doing doesn't seem right."

I don't respond. I have no idea what Beshimi is talking about. Using your allies is a perfectly acceptable tactic. The three of us turn into the hallway containing the laboratory I had spied earlier. However, now the three men previously inside are loitering in our path. I keep walking, and they appear to be paying no attention to my progress. The trio speak animatedly about the boiling point of some concoction, each one passionately professing a different opinion.

As I pass, just for a moment, I glimpse in the direction of the speaker.

I bite my tongue so hard I can taste blood. My heart slams against my chest as years of training kick into action, keeping me from making any sign that anything is out of the ordinary.

Keep walking. Keep walking at exactly the same pace. Say nothing.

That isn't a hallucination. It's real. I know it is real because I hear Beshimi gasp by my side. He saw it, too.

Around the man's neck, on a leather cord, hangs my sundial.

My sundial.

I've been betrayed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I walk slowly, at first, after leaving Hachinisasareru headquarters. Every sense I possess becomes involved in the process of trying to deduce if Tojiro sent someone to follow me.

I keep this up until I realize I'm being a fool. First of all, Tojiro knows where I live. Second, he wouldn't be stupid enough to chance my discovering his agent. He obviously thinks I have no clue about his involvement. And, I wouldn't have any idea, if it hadn't been for my sundial.

I must have dropped it in the old fish packing warehouse yesterday. Were they following me then? Or did they go back afterwards to make sure I'd received their message?

But, Omasu would have recognized the Hachinisasareru if they had been the ones who attacked. And that clan, while formidable, isn't known for having much in the way of fighters.

So, Tojiro, wisely enough, must have hired outsiders. But, why?

None of this makes any sense. What motive could the Hachinisasareru possibly have to attack the Oniwabanshuu, and me in particular?

And poor Omasu. Her heart will be absolutely broken when she finds out how she's been used. That Gouko kid. Getting close to Omasu under false pretenses, just to find out information. I swear, I'll cut his eyes out and feed them to him.

As soon as I think it prudent, I break out into a run. I have to put some distance between myself and the Hachinisasareru headquarters. I have to think this out. Surely, if I could just wrap my mind around this, if I could just figure out what is going on, then I could deduce a resolution.

But, forcing my mind to behave in any rational fashion may be the most difficult proposition of all.

Halfway back to the Aoiya, I catch my breath in a back alley. I'm covered in sweat, but only half of it is from the running. How the hell am I going to protect them? I can't keep an eye on everyone all the time. And I certainly can't keep them locked in the Aoiya.

Or could I? How hard would it be to pick off the Hachinisasareru one by one? I could get a gun. I've never had one before, but shooting has to be easier to learn than tossing shuriken or kunai or darts. Right?

No. That would take too long. I stare blankly at the wall across from me in the alleyway, watching as it ripples like water in my hallucinatory vision.

Maybe I should just sneak inside one night and kill them. I know the building's defenses, so it wouldn't be -that- hard. I probably wouldn't get them all, but as long as I took down Tojiro, Gouko, and a handful of others, and then set fire to the place, they'd be crippled enough to have to close up shop. I'd probably get killed in the process, but at least everyone at Aoiya would be safe.

"Oh, that's a -great- idea," Beshimi says sarcastically, suddenly appearing on the low roof of the building across from me. "Getting yourself killed will -definitely- solve the Oniwabanshuu's problems."

"There is no other choice." I look at my feet, somehow suddenly afraid of being chastised by Beshimi. Heh. That's a new one. Beshimi making -me- worry about being incompetent. "What do you expect me to do? The Hachinisasareru have a clear advantage. Do you want Okina to be attacked in the streets like Okon and Omasu? Or Misao? Or the others? It is obvious the Hachinisasareru want me. So, I'll give them..."

"I seem to recall Okina did pretty well against you with his tonfa last time you fought. Just because you won that particular battle doesn't mean others will be able to subdue the old man."

I look up suddenly, my eyes growing wide. Beshimi is talking about my time at Mt. Hiei, my tentative pact with Shishio Makoto. My ghosts never mention that time. My strange little friend curls his knees up to his chest, turning himself into a solid ball. He'd always been such a small man, compared to the rest of us, but the way he'd slog through insults and jibes, the way he'd try so hard to complete every overwhelming mission... It made me ashamed to ever complain at how hard anything might be. Because, for Beshimi, it had to be at least three times as hard.

"Okashira, you've somehow mistaken self-sacrifice for leadership," Beshimi says, eyes turning a jagged crystalline blue as he speaks. He appears made of dark cerulean glass, almost translucent when the sun hits him at a good angle. "You can suffer all you want, but until you organize, until you take control of the Oniwabanshuu and actually -lead- them, you can not expect to do more than merely exist."

My words. I take it that this must be his goodbye. I'm getting more used to this by now. Still, I wish they wouldn't pick such jarring things to say when they leave. Why can't any of my ghosts want something easy, like incense burned in their honor? Or some prayers or flowers or something? Wait, Shinomori, don't think about the flowers. You tried that one already.

"What are you saying, Beshimi?" I crane my head to try to catch his eye, but he's like a stone statue, staring over the rooftops of Kyoto.

"I didn't follow you just to have you sacrifice yourself. Those left at the Aoiya are your family, and you have to look after them. But, Aoshi, they are also your men. They protected the Aoiya when you could and would not. They don't need you to die for them. And you don't need to do this alone. Lead them, my friend. Have at least as much trust in their abilities as they have in yours. Be their Okashira."

"That's it? That's what you want from me?" I cross the alley and catch Beshimi's foot. I suddenly feel like a child, like an impetuous child begging a parent to stay and give him just a few more words. "What if they get hurt?"

"It's a possibility." Beshimi says solemnly. I wish he would laugh that funny "Kekekeke" laugh one more time, just to let me know everything is going to be alright. "But, imagine how you felt after we died. Would you wish that despair on Okon and Omasu? Would sacrificing yourself bring any joy to Kuro, or Shiro? Is that how you will thank Okina and Misao for trying so hard to being you back? They may get hurt if you lead them into battle. But, they will -definitely- be hurt if you go alone and get killed."

"Yes, Beshimi. You're right." I take a deep breath in through my nose and exhale through my mouth. By the time I look up, Beshimi is gone, and instead of holding on to his foot, I'm clinging to a fallen roof tile. My fingers slip off, one by one, until my hand drops and returns to my side.

Beshimi. Can't say I ever understood him. But, I always liked him.

"Kekekekeke..."

His final laughter is carried by the breeze. It's probably not really his laughter at all, but a bird, or some wind chimes, or a cicada. Nonetheless, for once, I don't mind hallucinating one iota.

"Kekekekeke..."

I just need to lead them. No matter what happens, it is the right thing to do.

"Kekekekeke..."

Oh, just shut up already, Beshimi.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I make haste back to the Aoiya. The front of the shop is closed up. I guess Misao wasn't up to directing Kuro and Shiro in the kitchen all day while at the same time looking after Okon and Omasu. Not that Kuro and Shiro need direction. It's a little known secret, but they can cook almost as well as Omasu.

Well, as long as all the recipes include a vigorous helping of sake for the chefs.

Okina is out front, unnecessarily sweeping the porch. "Oh yes. Closed up today," he says to a woman inquiring about the Aoiya, "Everyone's gone to a nearby spa for some rest and relaxation. Say, you wouldn't want to join me in a nice hot bath, would you, Miss?"

The woman, thankfully one of our longtime customers, blushes, stammers out something about Okina being a pervert, and runs off. If she'd been a stranger, she'd probably have slapped him.

The old man giggles. If Hannya had been here, he'd have given Okina no end of grief for failing.

I walk up, glad to see that there hasn't been any trouble since I left. Okina stops sweeping and gives me a nod.

"Everything go well?" He's peering at me meaningfully through those worn old eyes. Okina hates being left out of the loop as much as Misao, but he complains about it less.

"Aa. Where are the others?"

"Okon and Omasu are sleeping, finally. Kuro and Shiro are making lunch. And Misao..."

"Misao?" A brief flash of worry jolts through my body. Surely Misao stayed here, just as I ordered. She wouldn't go out on her own, would she?

"Misao's been in the storeroom all morning. Cleaning."

Cleaning? How atypical of Misao. But, then, nothing typical has occurred all morning. Why start now?

As I go inside, I realize that I just had a conversation with Okina, and he didn't say a single insulting or cruel word to me. Or, rather, my mind didn't tack on anything particularly insane.

That's a good sign, at least.

The storeroom is at the very back of the Aoiya. Actually, we have two storerooms, one for things needed for the restaurant, and one for just old equipment and storage of personal items. But, since Kuro and Shiro keep the restaurant's storeroom spotless, I'm pretty sure Misao must be cleaning the other one.

I open the door slowly, just a few inches. Misao has her back to me. She's on her knees, rummaging through a small crate, taking out well worn items and putting them aside. If she's been cleaning in here, I certainly can't tell the difference.

"Aha!" Misao exclaims. She leans into the crate, the entire top of her torso disappearing into the box for a few seconds before she springs back out, her prize in hand. Setting it on top of another wooden crate and standing, Misao dusts off her hands on her apron hastily before saying, "Finally found it."

"What did you find, Misao?"

The world's most genki onmitsu whirls around, surprise apparent as she steps in front of the object. "Argh, Aoshi-sama! How long have you been standing there?"

So, she's learned to hide her own presence, but still can't detect mine. Well, that's good to know.

Misao shifts her weight as she rapidly cycles through a barrage of expressions. I don't catch all of them, but I'm fairly certain that she wasn't expecting to be discovered. Finally, her shoulders sink a bit, and she steps out of the way, leaving the object in plain view.

I see. She's dug up Beshimi's old treasure box. It's the one he used to keep all the items he stole from the Oniwabanshuu.

"I got to thinking about him, about Beshimi, after you said his name this morning." Misao turns her back to me and begins fumbling with the latch on the box. "And then, I remembered the box. His eyes always shone with such pride every time I came into his room and opened it up. Like he was so glad just to share a secret with me, something that belonged just to us and no one else..."

What the hell is she talking about? He never stole anything from Misao. Ever. So why would she...

I'm so stupid it literally hurts me. I can't belief I'd never figured it out before. "You were the thief. Not Beshimi."

"Of course." Misao's lips turn up at the corners as she finally pries open the box. "At the time it was our game, Beshimi and I. He taught me to steal, and I would bring everything I pilfered to him, so proud of my accomplishment. And he would smile and put it in the box. Our game. Our secret. Well, not so secret anymore, I guess. Are you angry, Aoshi-sama?"

"No." I'm not angry. Just surprised. No wonder we never caught Beshimi in the act.

Misao was the thief. And Beshimi covered for her. He took all of our abuse, all of our teasing, just so Misao wouldn't get in trouble.

Just like he took those bullets, so I wouldn't get killed.

I guess he never could get out of the habit of sacrificing himself for the sake of others.

But, I will. For Beshimi's sake, I'm going to lead the Oniwabanshuu to victory this time.

The Hachinisasareru isn't worth the sacrifice of my life. It isn't worth the tears of my adopted family as they bury me.

Besides, I have to get my sundial back.

"Did you need something, Aoshi-sama?" Misao asks, pulling the rest of the crate's contents out onto the floor to be sorted. One, in particular, catches my attention. An unopened package addressed to Beshimi. I bend to pick it up. The return address is Kanryuu's mansion in Tokyo.

"What's this?"

Misao shrugs as I inspect the kanji. That's Beshimi's handwriting, alright. So, what could he have possibly sent to himself? I tear it open and squeeze the package at the sides as I peer into the envelope.

At the bottom, I find a pile of paper triangles. All of them are marked on the corner with a familiar stamp of a spider's web. Kanryuu's opium.

Oh. -Very- clever, Beshimi, very clever indeed.

I wonder. Did you think that every packet of opium you stole was one less which would hit the streets? Or were you just curious to analyze them and find out Takani Megumi's secret?

Either way, a plan begins to form in my head.

Misao stares at me, her little black eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "Aoshi-sama?"

"Misao. Gather everyone in Okon and Omasu's room. Your Okashira has a plan."