See author intro.
Will being an onnagata for a kabuki troupe be enough to keep Kenshin’s identity a secret? The identity of the copyright holders is no secret: Watsuki Nobuhiro, who deserves every penny he makes from his wonderful creation; and the conglomerates who all make a buck off of him, namely Jump, Sony, Viz, etc. Alas, I make nothing from my fanfic….
None.
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An Unexpected Lesson: Chapter 2


by Conspirator ::: 24.Mar.2004


The Hitokiri Battousai as a woman. Kenshin couldn’t believe he had just agreed to be a kabuki onnagata for a traveling theater group. Well, Kenshin mused, if nothing else, no one would think to look for him as a woman. It may have been three years since the end of the Bakumatsu, but he knew from hard experience that the hatred of those who sought revenge against the Hitokiri Battousai had not lessened one whit. What was worse, the discovery of his identity had led more than once, during his wanderings, to the death of some of the very people who had been kind to him.

But here he was among people who had no idea who he was, except for the swordsman Baiko, who didn’t care. What were the chances that anyone would recognize him while he was on the stage dressed as a woman? And since the kabuki troupe was constantly on the move, what were the chances that someone in the troupe would meet anyone who might recognize him when he was out of costume? The prospect of regular meals for a few weeks was awfully enticing….

“The only problem you’ll have playing a woman is walking in those god-awful high geta,” Ryosuke was saying as Kenshin shifted his attention back to the man at his side. “It gives you a new appreciation for the weaker sex when you have to wear their get-up.”

They had reached the troupe’s wagon, where Ryosuke’s mother, Ikuko, awaited them. She had pulled out one of the trunks and was rummaging through it to find the women’s costumes. Kenshin stared as she sorted through an array of fine silks, all with the most intricate embroidery.

“Ah, here’s what I’m looking for,” Ikuko said as she pulled out a beautiful blue kimono embellished with dragons and bamboo. She held it up in front of Kenshin and shook her head. “Too long. Ah, well, time for alterations.” She motioned for Kenshin to follow her into the wagon, which he did after a push from Ryosuke.

“Kawayama-dono,” Kenshin said, “Sessha is still not too sure about all this…”

“Nonsense, Himura-san!” Ikuko said. “You’ll do just fine! And call me Ikuko. We took a surname when the government told us we should, but I’m not used to it yet.”

Kenshin watched as Ikuko assembled an assortment of pins, needles, and thread. “Well, now, we just have to fit that costume to you….”

As she spoke, Ikuko reached out to remove Kenshin’s sword from his obi, the first step in preparing him for a fitting. Suddenly, faster than she could see, she found her wrist caught in a vice-like grip.

“Ouch!” she yelped in surprise.

Kenshin instantly dropped her wrist as if it were a hot coal and backed away—the reflexes of the hitokiri were too fast, too ingrained.

“Forgive me, Ikuko-dono,” Kenshin said quickly as he bowed his head in apology. “I wasn’t thinking….”

Ikuko recovered from her surprise quickly. “No, no, it was my fault entirely,” she said a bit breathlessly as she rubbed her sore wrist. “I should have realized—you’re a swordsman, not an actor! That’s a real sword, not a prop. Of course I shouldn’t be touching your sword! Can you forgive an old woman who’s too used to dressing and undressing a bunch of actors?”

Kenshin remained where he was, head bowed and clearly upset by what had happened.

Ikuko looked at Kenshin with an appraising eye. He was so tense, this young man, as if he thought he was in constant danger, but why? She took a step closer—slowly this time—and carefully took his hand in hers. She patted it reassuringly, feeling him shrink from her touch. Was he so unused to kindness from people?

“Ikuko-dono, perhaps this is not a good idea,” he said softly. He wanted to remove his hand but was afraid to do so.

“Come now, young man, you haven’t hurt me, and you were quite right to protect your sword. However, kimono don’t look very elegant draped over swords, so perhaps you could remove your sword while we fit you, eh?”

She saw a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He removed his hand from hers, then knelt on the floor and placed his sakabatou before him in the position all swordsmen learn to show respect for one’s weapon. Then he stood again.

Ikuko watched his movements with fascination. Rarely had she seen anyone move with such fluid grace, like water flowing over smooth stones. Even her sons didn’t move with that kind of grace, she mused, although as actors, they came close. She supposed it came from training as a swordsman, although she guessed from his quick reflexes that perhaps he might have been a soldier once as well. It would be interesting to see how this young man worked out as an actor.

Kenshin watched uncomfortably as Ikuko’s eyes now traveled up and down his body, taking in the threadbare and much-mended state of his old brown gi and the somewhat tattered state of his gray hakama. He found himself shifting from one foot to the other, not sure what else he should be doing and feeling very naked without his sword at his side.

“Well, those clothes will never do,” Ikuko finally said. “I thought perhaps, if your gi were suitable, you could use that under a costume, but no, we’ll have to do the full treatment on you. You see, high-born aristocratic women don’t wear just a kimono—they wear three and sometimes four under-kimonos as well, all carefully layered to show the different colors at the neck and sleeve. For our costumes, most of those layers are just sewn right onto the collar and cuff for effect, but the actor needs to wear at least one layer underneath so you don’t get your perspiration on the costume. Your gi might have worked if it were in better shape, but I think we’d better just use one of Youngest Son’s under-kimonos. So, you’ll need to take your gi off.”

The look on Kenshin’s face nearly sent her into a fit of laughter, for his eyes became as big as plates.

“Remove my gi?” he gulped. “Here?” Undressing in front of a woman was something he hadn’t counted on when he agreed to this plan!

“Just pretend you’re with your own mother—surely you wouldn’t be too modest to change in front of her,” Ikuko said, trying to keep a straight face as she held out a long pink under-kimono.

Kenshin wasn’t sure what to say to that. He barely remembered his mother, but he knew that others had no qualms about doing this kind of thing in front of their parents. Ikuko, however, was not his mother. If he could manage to get past this, though, he would have a job and guaranteed meals for several weeks, which was nothing to sniff at. Reluctantly, he started untying his gi, but he turned his back to Ikuko before taking it off.

Ikuko wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but it wasn’t this. For such a slight young man, he certainly seemed to have a very muscular back, and she was surprised to find there were hardly any scars on it at all except for some strange-looking gashes on his shoulders and neck, and a long, thick scar near his waist that circled around from the front. It wasn’t as if she made a habit of looking at men’s backs, but wouldn’t a soldier have more scars than that? Perhaps he hadn’t been a soldier after all, although there were those two deep scars on his cheek….

Then he held his arm out behind him for the under-kimono. It was a thin arm, with sinewy rather than bulging muscles, but an arm that bespoke great strength nonetheless. As she placed the under-kimono in his hand, she noticed a field of scars, mostly small, running up and down his arm. Only a few looked deep or serious. Yes, he must have been a soldier—it was the arm of someone who had been touched by swords in battle. Surprisingly, the scars were all quite pale. It took years for the redness of most scars to fade, which meant that these must be quite old. Her husband had told her that this young man was only twenty-one. He couldn’t have fought even before the recent Boshin War, could he? He would have been too young! He certainly was a mystery, this young man was.

Now Kenshin turned back to Ikuko, the pink under-kimono tied securely around his waist. “It’s a bit big on me,” he said sheepishly as he looked at the fabric puddling around his feet and the sleeves hanging past his fingers.

“My, you are short, aren’t you!” Ikuko laughed as she gathered her pins. “About two inches shorter than my Ennosuke, it looks like. Ah, well, you will look just right playing a woman.” And she began to mark hems on the sleeves and bottom of the garment. “You’ll be glad to know that once I’ve got this fixed, you’ll never have to dress or undress in front of me again.” Was that a sigh of relief she heard? “However, before you put your own gi back on, I do have to show you how to wear the chest-piece.”

Chest-piece? Kenshin’s head whipped around so fast he almost knocked into Ikuko. “Ikuko-dono, sessha…”

“Oh, don’t worry!” Ikuko laughed. “It’s not what you think! It’s just a wad of stuffing attached to a shoulder harness.”

She rummaged once again in the trunk and pulled out what looked like a large, square, padded package with shoulder straps. “Here, you just slip the straps over your arms so, and there you are!” She placed the contraption on Kenshin’s chest. “When we put a full costume over it, you’ll look just like a woman.”

To prove her point, Ikuko took the blue kimono she had put aside and slipped it over Kenshin’s arms and wrapped it around him. Then, grabbing a long sash, she quickly tied a simple obi around his waist. As with the under-kimono, the blue kimono was much too long for him, but Ikuko was positively delighted with what she saw. She held out a large mirror to Kenshin.

“See, Himura-san? You look just like a woman!”

Kenshin looked in the mirror and began blushing redder than his hair. It was as if his head had been plopped atop the body of some young woman, except it was him! He felt completely disoriented.

“I…but…it’s not…,” he sputtered. Then finally, “Help, Ikuko-dono!”

Ikuko couldn’t contain herself any longer. She started laughing so hard she thought her sides would split.

“Himura-san,” she managed to say between laughs, “don’t be so embarrassed! You look perfect! But you must stop blushing!”

Kenshin couldn’t take it—all the taunts he had endured over the years about his supposedly girlish looks came flooding back. He started fumbling for the tie to the obi. He had to get this kimono off and become his male self again! Ikuko noticed a certain desperation in his motions.

“Is it that shocking to see yourself in the mirror dressed like that?” she asked.

Kenshin vigorously nodded his head yes. Ikuko suddenly turned serious.

“Himura-san,” she said forcefully as she restrained him from untying the obi, “let me be blunt. I’m guessing you used to be a soldier, like Baiko-san, and what is a soldier taught to do? You were taught to kill. It doesn’t matter whether you were fighting for or against the government, that’s what you were taught to do, and that brings only grief and sadness to the families of your victims. Isn’t that right?”

Kenshin suddenly became very still and, she noticed, even more tense than before.

“But what are actors taught?” she continued in a gentler tone of voice. “They’re taught how to transport people away from their everyday cares and woes, and that brings happiness and joy to those who watch our plays. That’s what we’re offering to teach you.”

Kenshin’s face was unreadable, his eyes flat and emotionless, but Ikuko knew she had struck a chord. She saw something flicker briefly across his face, then watched has he lowered his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

“Happiness and joy have never been associated with this one,” Kenshin finally said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Sessha doubts they ever will.”

Ikuko was taken aback at this statement.

“But you’ve already brought happiness and joy—to my family,” Ikuko said. “We would have lost Ennosuke but for you. Why not give this a try—what have you got to lose? Perhaps it will even bring a smile to your face. At any rate, we would be most grateful for your efforts.”

Kenshin gave a short breath of a laugh. If his life had taught him nothing else, it had taught him that happiness and joy were not meant for him, nor were they meant to be given by him. Still, what Ikuko offered him was so tempting. He had been happy once, in Otsu. His time with Tomoe had almost made him feel like life was worth living. Perhaps he could help these kabuki actors bring some happiness to others even if he himself could never experience such joy again.

“Sessha will try,” Kenshin finally said as he looked once more at himself in the mirror, “but I may never get used to this.”

Ikuko chuckled and patted his hand. “Don’t worry, Himura-san, no one ever really does.”

It was with great relief that Kenshin changed back into his own clothes and placed his sakabatou back into his obi. He had only been a ‘woman’ for perhaps five minutes, but it was enough to make him feel strange wearing his own clothes again. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sakabatou as if trying to reacquaint itself with a long-lost friend. He wished he could go somewhere right now to practice his kata, just to remind himself that he still was himself, but as he left the wagon, he could see that everyone was packing in preparation for leaving. So, he headed off to gather up his travel bag and bedroll. As he did, he found Baiko waving him over.

“Himura-san, if I could have a word with you?” He led Kenshin off away from the others. “Remember yesterday when I said I wouldn’t mind having a master swordsman around to help me? Well, I just ran into some folks coming up from the town we’re headed for, and they say there’ve been problems with yakuzas down that way.”

“Is that why the road was so deserted?” Kenshin asked.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Baiko replied, “and if what they say is true, then we’ve got a problem. These kabuki folks look like they’re rich, what with the money they take in for each show and all the fancy do-dads they use for costumes and props, but they aren’t—it just makes them a ripe target. I was at one of their shows last month when I saw someone trying to steal their horse. I managed to nail the guy and return the horse, which is why they hired me to stay with them as a guard. And they say their till was stolen once before that. The men all have had some formal sword training, but quite frankly, from what I’ve seen, they’d be useless in a real fight. A couple of petty thieves I can deal with by myself, but yakuzas?”

“What would you like me to do?” Kenshin asked.

“I’ve asked Daisuke and his sons to all dress in samurai get-up to make us look more formidable, if you know what I mean. Orinosuke-san always walks out in front, and Ryosuke-san and Ennosuke-san always guard the sides of the wagon. I bring up the rear. Daisuke-san drives. The women and the older children walk alongside the wagon—only the littlest ones ride inside. With Ennosuke-san out of commission, though, if you wouldn’t mind taking his spot….”

“Whatever sessha can do to help,” Kenshin said.

“Although,” Baiko said, “if we could get Orinosuke-san to agree, it would be even better to have you out front.”

“I am the eldest son of this family—I will remain out front.”

The two turned to find Orinosuke walking towards them.

“So, you think I’d be useless in a sword fight,” Orinosuke said in a sarcastic tone of voice. “I’ll have you know I studied kenjutsu for eight years, which is probably more than either of you ever did. I will remain at the head of this caravan. By the way, I’ve come to tell you we’re leaving. Now.” Then he turned on his heel and strode away.

“Now you know why the security guard brings up the rear,” Baiko growled.

Kenshin’s eyes narrowed as he felt hostility emanating from Orinosuke’s ki. “He’s angry at more than just us, isn’t he,” he said.

Baiko rolled his eyes and sighed. “That guy’s got a chip on his shoulder bigger than the whole of Mt. Fuji, though for the life of me I don’t know why. Oh, just leave him up front. It’s only about two hours to the next town anyway. We would have made it there last night if we hadn’t had that accident. Maybe you could keep an extra-keen eye out, though, eh?”

Kenshin nodded, and the two walked back to the wagon as the caravan headed for the road. As he took up his position on the right side of the wagon, Kenshin started to get an almost surreal feeling. How many times during the Bakumatsu had he done this exact job, walking as a guard to a convoy? A dozen times? Two dozen? It had been over three years since he had done so, but the old habits came back instantaneously—the tense wariness as his senses went on alert for the slightest hint of danger. He almost expected that when he looked to his side, he would find Ishin Shishi leaders or perhaps a squad of soldiers surrounding caissons of ammunition. Instead, he found himself next to Ennosuke’s wife, Noriko, and her three-year-old daughter, and the wagon was full of kabuki costumes, not ammunition. For the second time that morning, he wondered what he had gotten himself into. A tiny smile curled at the corners of his mouth as he contemplated the absurdity of the whole situation.

They had been walking only a few minutes when Kenshin noticed the mother and daughter sneaking looks at him. He had always been uncomfortable in the presence of strangers, for if they were not staring at him outright, then they often wanted to engage him in conversation, and he really was not very good at that. Sure enough, after about ten minutes, Noriko started talking.

“We are so grateful to you, rurouni-san, for helping my husband,” she said demurely.

“Aa,” Kenshin replied, eyes straight ahead.

After a minute or two of silence, she spoke again. “Have you ever been to a kabuki production?” she asked.

“No, Noriko-dono, never,” he answered, his eyes never wavering from the road.

“Then you don’t know what you’ve been asked to do,” she commented. “The children all love the comedies, what with the characters throwing things at each other.”

Kenshin turned a surprised face to her. “Throwing things? That’s what I’ll be doing?”

She laughed daintily. “Sometimes, and sometimes you’ll just hit one of the characters on the head with a frying pan.”

Kenshin smiled. He remembered the run-ins some of the men used to have with Okami-san, the woman who ran the inn he stayed at his first year in Kyoto. She could be feisty at times and had done just that on more than one occasion. “I thought kabuki was all about ancient times and ancient battles,” Kenshin finally said.

“Oh, no, some of it is old folk tales and silly stories, just to lighten the mood between the serious plays," she said. “And not all the stories are old. Father-in-Law has even written a play about the Bakumatsu. It’s very popular in Satsuma.”

Kenshin tensed. “What about the Bakumatsu?”

Noriko noticed the change and clutched her little girl’s hand just a bit tighter. How stupid of her, she thought, to mention the Bakumatsu without knowing anything about this wanderer. After all, there were still plenty of supporters of the former shogunate around, even this far south.

“It’s about the Ikedaya affair,” she said hesitantly, watching for his reaction. “The Ishin Shishi are the heroes, the Shinsengumi are the villains, and Okubo Toshimichi of Satsuma, who survives the attack, swears vengeance on the shogunate.”

Kenshin chuckled softly, to Noriko’s relief.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Okubo Toshimichi was not there,” Kenshin said with a laugh, “and Satsuma ended up siding with the Bakufu that summer.”

“How do you…,” she started, but then she remembered her manners and regained her composure. “I mean, after all, our theater is in Satsuma, so Father-in-Law wrote it to appeal to our audience.”

“Ah,” he said, a laugh still in his voice.

Now the little girl started pulling on her mother’s arm and whispering loudly in her ear as she pointed at Kenshin. Kenshin heard something about ‘funny hair’ and her mother’s admonitions to remember one’s manners. He sighed inwardly. He would never fit in in this country, not with his red hair.

“Rurouni-san,” Noriko finally said aloud, “my little girl wants to know your name, but I am embarrassed to say that I don’t know what it is.”

This was an unexpected request, and a pleasant one at that. Kenshin decided the least he could do would be to honor the little girl with his best manners, so he stopped and made a most formal bow to her.

“Himura Kenshin, de gozaru yo,” he said in a solemn voice, although Noriko noticed a smile in his eyes, “but you may call me Kenshin.”

The little girl just stood staring, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“Nomi-chan,” her mother whispered, “where are your manners?”

The little girl gave a quick bow and managed to mumble, “Nomi desu,” before running behind her mother to hide.

“Please forgive her, Himura-san, but no one has ever treated her in such a grown-up way before,” Noriko laughed. She tried to take Nomi’s hand once again, but the little girl darted away and ran to the other side of the wagon.

“This new Meiji era is for them,” Kenshin said. “They deserve our respect.”

Noriko gave him a look. What a curious thing to say, she thought, but she had no time to follow up on it for Nomi had come running back with two little boys, aged four and seven. They placed themselves in front of Kenshin and Noriko and stood, waiting expectantly. Kenshin looked at Noriko and said, “What?”

It took Noriko only a moment to figure out what the children wanted. “Himura-san,” she chuckled, “these are Ryosuke-kun’s children, Oda and Saburo. I think they want you to introduce yourself to them, too.”

Kenshin obliged them with another formal bow. “Himura Kenshin, de gozaru yo,” he said, “but you must now tell me your names.”

The two boys blushed and stammered out their names. Then they ran off. Kenshin laughed quietly. “Will there be any more?” he asked, an unaccustomed smile on his face. The wagon was now passing them by, followed by Baiko. Baiko was trying hard to keep a straight face.

“There’s only Byako and Bunjiro, Orinosuke-kun’s two boys,” Noriko said as she and Kenshin hurried to catch up, “but they’re nine and twelve. I don’t think they’d get the same thrill as these three at being treated like adults.”

The ice had been broken, and Kenshin felt a bit more comfortable walking next to this woman. Now he had a chance to size up his traveling companion. He felt a little odd in doing so, since she was a woman, but this was one habit from his days as a hitokiri that he had chosen to keep. It had always made him feel more comfortable—more safe—to know everything he could about the people around him, just in case….

In case of what, he wondered? This woman, he could tell, was not about to pull out a katana, for heaven’s sake, or even a tanto. Her ki was as light as a breeze on a summer’s day, and despite her worry over her husband’s injuries, she radiated a kind of serene happiness. She seemed to be about his own age, not much taller than he was, and she was very beautiful. That alone had made him nervous at first, but she seemed to have a way of putting him at ease. Her playfulness when Ryosuke’s two sons came by again to hear another formal greeting from Kenshin had confirmed his feeling that she was a very happy woman. He wondered briefly if Tomoe had ever felt that happy.

Not long after Ryosuke’s children had run back to their own mother, Orinosuke’s wife joined them. Kenshin felt a sudden shift in Noriko’s ki at the approach of this stern-looking woman.

“Noriko-chan,” Orinosuke’s wife said in a curt voice, “you may join your other sister-in-law and Ryosuke-kun now.”

“I’m fine staying on this side,” Noriko said somewhat stiffly.

“But you will go over there anyway, won’t you, Noriko,” the woman ordered.

Kenshin was somewhat startled by the woman’s rude manner towards her sister-in-law. It wasn’t unusual for an older woman to call a younger one ‘-chan,’ but to use it and then leave it out entirely? Well, it was none of his business. He kept his eyes and senses on the road ahead as Noriko bowed quickly and hurried off. Orinosuke’s wife, however, had come with a purpose, and she lost no time in pursuing it. As soon as Noriko was gone, she turned to Kenshin and said, “I understand you call yourself a rurouni, Himura.”

No honorific for him, either. Well, he was just a rurouni, after all.

“Hai, onna-dono,” he answered.

He took a side-long glance at her. She was tall and regal-looking, at least ten years older than Noriko, with a hard set to her mouth and a ki as brittle as ice. He felt himself tensing almost as if he were preparing for battle.

“Where do you come from?” she asked bluntly.

It was clear now that this woman had come to interrogate him, whether of her own accord or at the behest of her family he did not know. Regardless, he mentally erected all his inner defenses. There were just some things he would not divulge to anyone for any reason.

“Sessha grew up in the mountains, onna-dono, west of Kyoto,” he answered vaguely in his most polite voice.

She threw him a sharp look. “West of Kyoto? Humph, the sticks, you mean. Well, that accounts for your odd manners. Sessha indeed! And you will address me with my proper name.”

“Gomen nasai, onna-dono, but I do not know your name,” Kenshin replied with a contrite bow.

“It’s Kawayama Mayako, and you will call me Kawayama-san,” she ordered.

“Hai, Kawayama-dono.”

She ignored the ‘-dono.’

“And we will be keeping an eye on you,” she continued tersely. “Anything goes missing, we’ll know who stole it.”

Kenshin was used to this kind of suspiciousness—he was a total stranger, after all—but there also seemed to be a certain amount of hostility in Mayako’s manner. Perhaps he was not welcome after all.

“Kawayama-dono,” Kenshin said quietly, “if you would prefer, I will leave as soon as your family has found a doctor for Ennosuke-san.”

Mayako shot him another look. She didn’t trust this young man from here to there, and neither did her husband. Freeloader, that’s what Orinosuke had called him—a professional freeloader, in all likelihood. She didn’t believe he’d give up his free meals so readily.

“Well, that is not my decision to make,” she responded. “That old fool Daisuke has said you will stay with us, and so you will stay with us until he decides otherwise. He is the head of this family, whether we like it or not. But we will be keeping an eye on you.” And with that, she swept off.

No sooner was she gone than Baiko sidled up. He looked around to see if anyone was within earshot, then said, “She give you that ‘we’ll keep an eye on you’ speech? She did the same thing to me when I first came.”

“Sessha took no offense,” Kenshin replied. “It’s only to be expected.”

“Expected?” Baiko repeated. “You expect people to assume you’re a thief or something?”

“Sessha is only a rurouni,” Kenshin answered matter-of-factly. “These people know nothing about me, other than that this one helped them in an emergency. Kawayama-dono was just looking out for the safety of her family. It is no more than sessha deserves.”

Baiko looked at Kenshin in amazement. This was the Hitokiri Battousai, wasn’t it? The assassin of legend? The man some were calling one of the greatest patriots of the Bakumatsu? The guy probably deserved a few medals, not to mention a lifetime pension! And he expected to be treated like a thief? Kenshin could sense Baiko’s confusion.

“Baiko-san,” Kenshin said after a long moment, “how long have you known me?”

“Who me? Less than a day,” Baiko answered. “Why?”

“This morning, when this one woke up and tried to go to the woods quietly, what did you do?”

“Asked where you were going, of course,” he said.

“Because even though we have a mutual acquaintance who vouched for my character, you weren’t quite sure for yourself, were you. And rightly so. How could sessha take offense at your suspiciousness when you were only doing the right thing? It’s the same with Kawayama-dono, whether sessha likes it or not.”

Baiko looked at him as if he couldn’t believe what he heard. Most men would have been fuming, vowing vengeance, anything to put that bitch of a woman in her place. He certainly wouldn’t have been surprised to find a hitokiri, especially this hitokiri, feeling like that. His mind, however, couldn’t seem to reconcile what it thought it knew with the words this particular hitokiri had just said. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and gave up.

“I gotta get back to my post,” Baiko said. “Just don’t let her get to you, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” Kenshin said with a small smile. “She won’t.”

‘That old fool Daisuke.’ Mayako’s words, tossed off so casually, were what really concerned Kenshin, not her demeaning comments to him. It had been years—three years, to be exact—since he had heard words like that thrown around, back in Kyoto during the Bakumatsu. If it wasn’t the men complaining about their ‘old fool’ commanders, then it was leaders like Katsura Kogoro or Yamagata Aritomo complaining about some ‘old fool’ politician with whom they disagreed. He wondered what could be going on in this seemingly happy group to cause such anger and dissention between Daisuke and his family. He had no experience with families to judge this by, having never lived in a family himself except when he was too young to remember.

With no one walking with him now, his mind continued to wander even as his eyes and senses kept on alert. Up ahead he could see Orinosuke’s two boys walking behind their father, imitating his swagger and drawing their bokkens in play. Occasionally, their father would look back to point something out to them, and eventually the twelve-year-old, Bunjiro, moved up to walk alongside his father. The nine-year-old, Byako, fell into step with his mother, who casually laid her arm around the boy’s shoulder. It was a comfortable gesture, not at all in keeping with her previous hostile attitude towards himself.

It made his thoughts turn to Tomoe, as most things tended to do. He and Tomoe had been so happy during those few short months in Otsu. It was there that he learned what happiness really was, that two people could live together and care about each other and even find they loved each other. He often wondered what life would have been like if Tomoe hadn’t died. He knew it was futile to contemplate what-ifs, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe they would have had children, maybe they would still be there today, farming the land and hearing the sounds of their little family’s happy laughter, maybe it would be comfortable, like the gesture of this mother towards her son. But he knew that it could never have come to pass. Even if Tomoe had not died, Katsura would still have come back for him. He would have had to return to Kyoto, return to being a hitokiri, in all likelihood. And Tomoe—would she still have loved him then? No, he needed to stop thinking like this. Toshiro, the old monk at the monastery where Tomoe was buried, had told him many times that it was dangerous to one’s well-being to dwell on the past, that he needed just to concentrate on the present. But what if there was no purpose to living in the present? What if the only purpose he had for living was a promise he had given to the one who had died?

Not long before lunchtime, the caravan finally reached its destination, the small village they had hoped to reach the day before. As was their custom, the women and children climbed into the wagon before entering the town to prevent anyone from getting separated from the group by accident. That would have been difficult here, though, for the town was a compact little place with a single street of shops ringed by a sprinkling of small houses. As they reached the center of town, people started coming out of their homes and stores to see who this strange group was, with their gaily decorated wagon. Daisuke finally pulled the horse to a stop and leaned down to the nearest person.

“Good sir,” he said to the young man, who looked to be a blacksmith, “we had an accident yesterday and are in need of a doctor. Is there one in your village?”

The blacksmith looked suspiciously at the wagon and especially at the four men with swords walking beside it.

“That would depend on who’s needing the help,” the man said after some thought.

Daisuke looked around at the crowd that had gathered and saw that there was suspicion in all of their eyes. He stood up, and in his most theatrical voice he announced, “Good people, we are the Daisuke Kabuki Family of Kagoshima! We have come to brighten your day with a display of acrobatics and juggling! One of us, however, was injured yesterday when our wagon overturned.”

“Not yakuzas?” a woman whispered.

Daisuke turned to her. “We saw no yakuzas, onna-san,” he said in a quieter voice, “although we heard earlier that there were some on the road. Have you had problems with them?”

There was muttering among the crowd, but no one answered. Then the blacksmith pointed down the street and said, “Our town teacher is our doctor. You’ll find him at the house with the school sign out front.”

Daisuke bowed low and said, “We are most grateful. In return for your help, we promise a wonderful show at three o’clock!”

The crowd suddenly went “Oooh!” and started scattering to spread the news, leaving the way clear for the wagon to continue on to the doctor’s house.

“At least I hope it’ll be at three o’clock,” Daisuke muttered, “because I haven’t found the town elders yet to get their approval. Oh well, let’s find this doctor. Lead on, First Son!”

The school was at the very edge of town. Daisuke almost thought they had somehow missed it, but then Orinosuke called out, “There it is.” From the look of the roof, it was a house larger than most of the others, but it was hard to tell since it was surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence. By the gate was a bell and a large sign that said “School.” Beneath it was a smaller sign: “Sick Hours: 3 p.m. to 6 p.m.”

“Perhaps we should come back later,” Ryosuke said after reading the sign.

“No, we’ll ring the bell now,” Daisuke said. “He can tell us to come back, but at least he’ll know we’re here.”

Orinosuke rang the bell. The sound of students reciting lessons suddenly stopped, and they could hear someone slide open a shoji and walk to the gate. When the gate opened, it was an older student who appeared, not the teacher. The boy hadn’t expected to find strangers at the gate, and his mouth hung open in surprise.

“Is your sensei in?” Daisuke asked when it appeared that the boy had been rendered speechless. “We are travelers in need of medical help. One of us was injured badly yesterday.”

“Yasujiro-chan, who is it?” a man’s voice called out.

The boy suddenly regained his senses. “Injury—yes!” he sputtered. “One minute please!”

He shut the gate in their faces. They could hear talking in the background, a small commotion, then a hush as the students all stopped talking. When the gate opened, it was a man of about thirty, a sword in his obi and suspicion written on his face.

“I am Satoshi, the sensei here,” the man said, his arms crossed so that his right hand was just above the hilt of his sword. “What kind of help do you need? My medical hours are not until much later.”

Baiko nudged Kenshin as he noted the position of the man’s hand; Kenshin nodded back in acknowledgement. The man seemed to sense a threat.

Daisuke must have noticed as well, for he now bowed deeply and said, as humbly as he could, “Sensei-san, I am Kawayama Daisuke, head of the Daisuke Kabuki Family of Kagoshima. Our wagon overturned on the road yesterday afternoon, pinning my son’s leg underneath and sending an iron hook into his thigh. We managed to bandage him up enough to get here, but it’s too serious for us to handle ourselves. If you could at least have a quick look to make sure it’s safe to wait that long? He’s in the wagon.”

Satoshi looked out at the five men before him. Three looked like samurai, the burly one looked like a soldier, and the short one with the tattered clothing looked like… How unusual—the man had red hair. But he had a sword as well, and the sword’s hilt wrappings looked well-worn. What if these men were yakuzas and not who they claimed to be?

“You will have to bring him out here,” Satoshi finally said. “Then I’ll decide.” No way would he allow himself to be trapped in that wagon! Daisuke gave him a long look, then started barking orders.

Satoshi watched as the women and children jumped down from the wagon and the first trunk of costumes was lowered to the ground. Since when did yakuzas travel around with women and children, he wondered? Unless these were hostages… But if they were, then why were they helping the men? And since when were samurai kabuki actors? Unless these were actors pretending to be samurai….

Finally, a makeshift stretcher emerged from the wagon, bearing a semi-conscious man with bloody bandages and a splint made of a log on his leg. An elderly woman slid down from the back of the wagon to stand by the man’s side, as did one of the younger women, who took the man’s hand. A little girl ran up to give the man a kiss as well. No, these were definitely not yakuzas, and Satoshi felt ashamed to have suspected it. It took only a quick look at the man’s bloody leg to show that this family had reason to worry about the injury.

“Please, follow me,” he said quickly. “You were right not to wait. And please, accept my apologies for being so suspicious. We have had trouble with some samurai yakuzas lately, and not knowing you, I couldn’t be sure….”

“No offense taken,” Daisuke said. “We are just grateful for any help you can give my son.”

Satoshi led them into the school building and motioned for them to set the stretcher on his teacher’s desk. As the rest of the family trooped in, he dismissed his students and said quietly to Daisuke, “This probably won’t be very pleasant to watch. Perhaps your family should wait outside.”

“Not a bad idea,” Daisuke agreed. He began shooing everybody out except Ryosuke, Noriko, and Ikuko. He himself left as well, taking Orinosuke with him to find the town elders to get permission for a performance.

With the crowd gone, Satoshi began to look at Ennosuke’s leg in earnest. Now he could see clearly the wads of bandage that had been packed into the deep, open wound. That, he knew, should have stopped the bleeding, but clearly it hadn’t. In order to see exactly where the bleeding was coming from, he gently spread the wound apart and started to pull out the packing, but he stopped as blood started spurting out. He whistled softly at what he saw and quickly repacked the wound. Turning to Ikuko, he said, “Kawayama-san….”

“Just call me Ikuko,” Ikuko broke in. “What did you find?”

“Ikuko-san,” Satoshi started again, “your son is lucky to be alive.” He heard a swift intake of breath from Noriko at his words. “In the thigh is a very large blood vessel, the kind that if it is cut, one could bleed to death in a matter of minutes. Your husband said an iron hook found its way into his thigh. It appears the iron hook nicked that large blood vessel. If you hadn’t put in that packing….”

“He would have bled to death?” Ryosuke finished for him.

Satoshi nodded. “Not many people, besides doctors and maybe soldiers, know to pack a wound of this kind. How did you know what to do?”

“Actually, we didn’t,” Ryosuke answered. “We do have a former soldier traveling with us as a security guard, but he couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. Then suddenly there was this boy—well, not actually a boy, but he looks like one—a traveler who happened by, and he seemed to know exactly what to do.”

“He said he was a druggist once,” Noriko added.

“He was a soldier once, I’m sure of it,” Ikuko commented, remembering the scars she had seen on Kenshin earlier that morning.

Ryosuke gave her a surprised look. “Him? A soldier? Really?”

“Trust me, Second Son, he was a soldier some time in his life.”

“Well, whatever he was, he certainly did the right thing,” Satoshi said, “and he did an excellent job setting the leg, too. Still, it looks like I’ll have to stitch up this blood vessel if we’re going to get the bleeding to stop.” Then he called out, “Chuyo—bring hot water and bandages!”

As they waited for the water, he retrieved a large wooden box from the back of the room. When he opened it, they saw it contained several vials of herbs and medicines as well as what looked like various implements of torture, including a small saw for amputations.

“You’re not going to take his leg off, are you?” Noriko whispered when she saw it. Ennosuke heard that and tried to sit up, groaning in pain as he did. Satoshi pushed him back down gently.

“No, no, nothing like that, onna-san,” Satoshi laughed softly. “It’s just that this medical box has been with me since I fought in the Bakumatsu—that’s where I learned to doctor. It contains everything one would need on a battlefield, which just happens to be everything I need off the battlefield as well. I haven’t needed that saw in years, though, thank goodness!”

A small woman suddenly appeared with a steaming pot and an armload of bandages. She bowed shyly, spoke a few words to Satoshi, then stepped quietly to the back of the room and began mixing some herbs for a medicinal tea.

As soon as the tea was brewed, Satoshi propped Ennosuke up and helped him drink it. “It’s for pain,” he explained. Then he handed Ennosuke a small piece of wood to clamp between his teeth. “This is for the pain you’ll feel anyway,” he added apologetically.

Then he started readying his surgical tools. They watched as he spread out bowls of hot water and piles of bandages, and then took out a small knife, a needle, and a kind of silk thread. As he carefully removed the bloody bandages from the wound and went to make the first stitch, Ryosuke suddenly said, “I think maybe I’d better go out—let people know he’s okay.”

They all looked up to find a slightly green man heading quickly for the door.

“He always was a sensitive one,” Ikuko commented wryly, “just like his father.”

Ryosuke couldn’t get outside fast enough. He gratefully breathed in deep lungfuls of fresh air as he unsteadily lowered himself to sit on the edge of the porch. His wife, a plump little woman named Mei, rushed over and quickly felt his forehead.

“Husband, are you sick?” she asked in a bird-like voice. “What about Brother-in-Law?”

Ryosuke shook his head to clear his light-headedness, then said, “Don’t worry, anata—you know how I get around blood.”

The other family members had gathered around as well and chuckled knowingly at his comment. He looked up at them, blushing slightly, but then collected himself and said, “Youngest Brother will be fine. The sensei needs to sew up a blood vessel and redo the splint, that’s all.”

While Ryosuke had been inside, Mayako and Mei had been setting out a cold lunch for the family. His son Saburo brought him a bowl of cold noodles. As he took it, he looked around the courtyard and said, “Where’s Baiko-san and the rurouni? Someone ought to at least tell the rurouni his patient is okay.”

“I’ll do it,” Mayako said coldly. “They’re outside guarding the wagon.” She quickly got together two bowls of noodles for the men. Then she muttered, “We’ll need to buy more food in this god-forsaken little town, what with this extra mouth to feed. More money down the drain.”

“Mayako-chan!” Mei exclaimed. “He did us a great service!”

Mayako shot her sister-in-law a disgusted look. “Service, yes, but feeding another mouth costs money.”

She swept out the gate carrying the two bowls and handed them to Baiko and Kenshin. Then, to Kenshin, she said, “I guess you earned this bowl—Ryosuke-kun says my brother-in-law will be fine, which I suppose is due to your help yesterday.”

Kenshin bowed deeply and said simply, “Arigato, Kawayama-dono.”

“That woman gets on my nerves,” Baiko commented once Mayako went back through the gate.

Kenshin chuckled as he dipped his chopsticks into the cold noodles. “Baiko-san, if nothing else, I have learned one thing during my wanderings—never turn down a meal, no matter how someone treats you!”

It was not long before Daisuke and Orinosuke returned bearing permission from the town elders to perform. Daisuke left a list of items that would be needed for the performance with Baiko, then went to wait with his family in the courtyard for word from the doctor. Finally, nearly an hour after they had arrived, Satoshi emerged from the schoolhouse.

“My son—how is he?” Daisuke asked as soon as he walked out.

Satoshi smiled. “He’ll be just fine. With a little rest and a couple of weeks for that bone to heal, he’ll be as good as new. ”

“How long?” Orinosuke asked quickly.

“Well,” said Satoshi thoughtfully, “he’ll need to stay here at least another twenty-four hours to make sure those stitches hold. As for the break, I’d say four to six weeks before he can do anything besides light walking. You’ll probably be back in Kagoshima by then.”

“Four to six weeks!” Orinosuke repeated.

“It’s just like the rurouni told us,” Ryosuke noted. “Good thing I asked if he’d fill in for Youngest Brother, ne?”

“It’s thanks to that rurouni that your brother is alive at all,” Satoshi commented. “If he hadn’t packed that wound the way he did, your brother would have bled to death. As for the break, the rurouni did such a good job of setting it that your brother’ll probably have no trouble doing all the acrobatics your mother tells me he has to do. If I’d had to reset that bone, that probably wouldn’t be the case. Speaking of the rurouni, is he still here? I’d like to meet him, tell him how your brother is doing.”

“Himura-san?” Daisuke said. “He’s out by the wagon—the short one with the red hair.”

The red hair. Yes, Satoshi had noticed that fellow when they had first arrived. There was something about that red hair that seemed to keep niggling at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. He went through the gate to the wagon but saw only the burly soldier, who was helping unload boxes from the wagon.

“Excuse me,” Satoshi said to Baiko, “I’m looking for Himura-san.”

“That would be him,” Baiko said, pointing up to the back of the wagon, where Kenshin had just appeared with another box. “Oi, Himura-san, the sensei wants you.”

Kenshin hopped down lightly and bowed.

“You look awfully young for it,” Satoshi started, “but have you had training as a physician? I was impressed that you knew to pack that leg wound. Not many laymen would know what to do for a bleeding artery like that. And the way you set the bone was perfect—I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

Kenshin wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Training? No. Experience with such injuries? Unfortunately, yes.

“Sessha’s…watched,” Kenshin finally answered, not mentioning that the watching was sometimes while someone else was treating his own wounds.

“Well, you ought to consider becoming a doctor,” said Satoshi. “You’ve got an obvious talent for it.”

Kenshin chuckled at the thought of an ex-hitokiri healing people instead of killing them, but then noticed that Satoshi was staring at him in an odd sort of way. He detected no hostility coming from him, but he became uncomfortable nonetheless.

“Is something the matter, sensei-san?” Kenshin finally asked.

Satoshi shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs from his brain. “You know,” he said, “I could swear I know you from somewhere. Have we met before?”

Kenshin tensed. “Sessha thinks not,” he answered truthfully.

It was happening again—someone recognizing him. However, he was sure he did not know this man. He had been blessed—or was it cursed—with a nearly photographic memory for faces, and he was sure he had never seen this face before.

“Were you ever with the Kiheitai?” Satoshi asked after staring some more.

“The Kiheitai?” Kenshin asked in genuine surprise. No one, in the three years since he had started wandering, had ever asked that question!

“That’s it! That’s where I know you from! Or someone who looks like you, at least. Yeah, that’s it! I was with the Kiheitai—it’s where I learned doctoring—and a few weeks after I got there, my sensei pointed out this young boy. A little thing he was, with red hair and a sword almost as big himself. He was only there about a week, as I recall—went off to Kyoto with some big Ishin Shishi muckamuck to be a valet or something. Funny thing is, some of the men said it was that little kid who became the Hitokiri Battousai, though I don’t believe it. Everyone knows the Hitokiri Battousai was about seven feet tall, and this kid was so tiny… But that couldn’t be you anyway. I was told he was thirteen or fourteen back then, though he looked a lot younger than that. That would make him at least twenty-two today. You’re what, sixteen or so? No, he’d be much older than you are, I’m sure.”

Baiko had sidled over during their conversation and saw a grimness taking over Kenshin’s face. Baiko broke into the conversation before anything else could be said.

“You were with the Kiheitai?” he asked Satoshi quickly. “What was someone from Satsuma doing off in Chousu with them?”

Kenshin gave Baiko a look of profound thanks for taking him off the hook.

“Who me?” Satoshi said. He swept his arms wide as he answered, “This whole area was under the control of the samurai family from hell. For generations the Nobu family overtaxed us, stole our crops from us, killed people for the slightest provocation. They were everything that was bad about the old system. Then we heard about Takasugi Shinsaku and his Kiheitai—an army made up of people like us. We’re not all that far from Chousu—two day’s journey by boat from Miyazaki. We heard they’d train anyone with a fighting spirit how to use a sword and become a fighter to help overthrow the Shogunate. So, a couple of us slipped off one night, got to Chousu, and joined up. Turns out I didn’t have much talent with a sword, but they found I did have a talent for doctoring. Everything I know about medicine I learned in the Kiheitai—well, almost everything. Things like women’s monthlies and suchlike I had to learn elsewhere.”

Baiko turn beet red at that.

“Oh, sorry,” Satoshi laughed. He looked around to speak to Kenshin again, but Kenshin had disappeared. “Say, where’d your friend go?”

Baiko looked around and said, “Beats me. So, did you and your friends come back from the Kiheitai and get rid of that family?”

“No—the daimyo ended up doing that for us,” Satoshi answered, now speaking as if he were afraid someone might overhear. “When the head of the family heard the daimyo was siding with the Ishin Shishi, he tried to revolt. Old Shimazu-sama had him dealt with, to our everlasting joy, but the two sons escaped. Now the sons have come back trying to reclaim their land. And now that the new government has cut off the stipends the lower samurai used to get from the Bakufu, these two have become yakuzas. When you showed up in your wagon, I thought maybe you were in cahoots with them. They’ve been terrorizing the whole area all the way over to Miyazaki.”

“We’re heading for Miyazaki,” Baiko said with concern.

“Well, they were in this area just about a week ago—extorted some money from some of the outlying farmers around here. We’ve even heard they’ve killed travelers on the road just to steal their goods, so I’d be real careful, if I were you.”

“Thanks for the warning!” Baiko said gratefully.

Baiko watched as Satoshi went back through the gate. Then he started searching for Kenshin. He found him in the wagon sitting on a box, eyes closed and fists clenched.

“I wasn’t that short,” Kenshin said quietly when he sensed Baiko’s presence, “and that sword fit me just fine.”

Baiko swallowed a guffaw. Just the thought of the Hitokiri Battousai as a kid with a sword too big for himself made him want to crack up, but Kenshin was obviously in no mood to laugh. Several moments of uncomfortable silence followed. Then Kenshin got up and started back to work finding the boxes Daisuke had ordered.

“So,” Baiko said as he moved to help him, “the sensei was right—he did know you from the Kiheitai.”

Several more moments of silence ensued as Kenshin kept working. Baiko started to think Kenshin had no intention of answering his question, but then Kenshin said, “I was with the Kiheitai for a week, maybe two. I don’t think I ever met Satoshi-sensei, although he may have seen me.”

He lapsed into silence once again. Then, in a soft voice, he said, “I was young, not much older than Bunjiro—young and idealistic.”

Yet another silence followed before he turned to look at Baiko, a flat look in his eyes that sent shivers down Baiko’s spine. “The Bakumatsu,” Kenshin said in dead voice, “was no place for a youth with ideals.”

He turned back to his work now in a way that showed he would say nothing further, leaving Baiko to wonder what had caused so much bitterness in such a famous patriot.

Japanese Terms:

Onnagata: in kabuki, a male actor who plays the female roles.

Bakumatsu: Japanese civil war.

Geta: wooden sandals.

Sessha: ‘this unworthy one.’

Kata: the prescribed moves for practicing a martial art.

Yakuzas: gangs of criminals.

Kenjutsu: the art of swordfighting.

Ki: a person’s ‘aura.’

Ishin Shishi: the anti-shogunate faction during the civil war.

De gozaru yo: an archaic version of ‘desu,’ usually translated in the manga as “that I am.”

Katana: long sword.

Tanto: short dagger.

Onna-dono: literally “Miss Lady.”

Gomen nasai: very sorry.

Bokken: wooden practice sword.

Anata: my beloved.

Kiheitai: a private army in Chousu created by Takasugi Shinsaku at the very beginning of the Bakumatsu. It was made up of commoners rather than samurai.

Daimyo: feudal lord.

Shimazu: the daimyo family of Satsuma.

Bakufu: military government of the Shogunate, which was overthrown by the revolution.


Author’s Note: Well, you can tell that I’m intrigued by how outsiders perceive our hero. After all, here’s a short (even by Japanese standards), red-haired tramp in tattered clothes who shows up out of the blue and likes to use archaic language when he speaks. What would you think?! By the way, if you’re wondering who the heck Toshiro the monk is, he’s just another character from my previous story Descent into Madness, not someone from the manga itself.

I must give lots of credit to Co-Conspirator for helping with this chapter. She’s done a truly phenomenal job of keeping me from getting too long-winded and too off-the-track, which was awfully easy to have happen with this story. In fact, without Co-Conspirator’s constant nagging (“Got any more written yet? Huh? Huh?”), I probably would have given up by this point! Her one complaint—not enough swordfights. So, I will point out to you, dear readers, what I told her: the Bakumatsu is over, this is supposed to be an era of peace (even if it’s not quite), so how can there be as many swordfights as in Descent into Madness! And no Saitou!! There will, however, be action and plenty of tense moments. And for those of you who hate long chapters, I promise the rest won’t be nearly as long as this one!

It’s been so long since my in-box had so much mail, so thanks for the reviews! Readers crazy enough to send a review were: Calger 459 and Haku Baikou (my two great inspirations), Bishounen Hunter, BakaBokken, Hitokiri oro-chan, PraiseDivineMercy, Hitokiri Elf slayer of evil, Maeve Riannon, beriath, koe 760, and Shimizu Hitomi. I guess this means I should keep on writing, huh?


Co-Conspirator’s Note: Holy cow, that’s one freakin’ long chapter! Ahem, I mean, I think twenty-two pages is our record so far. A long chapter means a lot of character development. Unfortunately, a lot of character development means not a lot of action, but don’t worry—please stay with us! Things will get more active soon—we promise! And angst—did I mention angst? Next chapter: The promised angst. Also, Kenshin has a run-in with Orinosuke and learns how to walk like a woman.
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