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The Courtship of Lady Tokio

by Misaki Toyodome

Chapter 21 - The Cherry, the Gentian and the Camellia

"It makes no sense, Father..." Tokio sighed.

"These things never make sense. These things just happen." Kojuurou carefully dipped his brush against the inkwell and pressed it to the paper. He lost his train of thought, and the brush left an indeterminate blotch on the page. He exhaled, put aside the brush and slid the paper away. "Child, you cannot predict the future with logic, which is what you are trying to do. Men are irrational creatures, and so long as they make what they will of life, life will never make sense and the future can never be foretold."

She glanced at him sideways and frowning, as if to say that she already knew this. He picked up his brush again and arranged a clean sheet of paper before him.

"Tokio, life will never be how you want it to be. There are too many factors that we do not control. The biggest difference between life and a story is that a story has to make sense in order for people to understand it. There is no understanding life, there is only the living of life."

"... Father, I respect you, but at times you talk so obtusely, it puts the monks here to shame."

He chuckled.

"All I am saying is that there is no point in raging against circumstances that you have no power over. All we can do is to do as we believe to be for the best."

They had been talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Kyoto and Edo, the rock and the hard place between which Aizu was being forced. The fact that they could not anticipate what would come next. The military power of the West, and why people refused to acknowledge it. How people should live their lives. How she should live her life. What duty was and how it bound them. The changing times and tides.

She smiled at him. Her father – he worked so hard, for his land, for his Lord, and for his family. And what was really infuriating about him was that he was never unreasonable, never a person that you could complain about, never did anything to warrant a reproach. The only fault that one could find with him, if it could be called a fault, was that he held everyone to a standard, his standard, and not everyone could measure up. It was difficult, she thought, having him as a parent. A wise man had once said, 'children begin by loving their parents, after a time they judge them; rarely if ever do they forgive them'. How could she begin to forgive him, she wondered, when he never did anything that needed to be forgiven?

"Here, take this to the Aoi-ya." He made sure that the ink was dry, and then folded the page and sealed it. She took the papers and looked at him questioningly, but no answer was forthcoming.

"Hai, irasshai mase!" Omasu greeted the person who had just come through the door.

"Omasu-san, hello, it's been a while."

"Aah! Tokio-chan!" Omasu hurried over to her and led her to a table at the back of the restaurant.

"These are for everyone," Tokio said as she handed a wrapped box of sweets to Omasu. Discreetly, Omasu also took the letter that Tokio slipped from out of her sleeve and hid it in her obi. She disappeared through the kitchen doors and came back in a few moments with some tea. She said in a low voice, "Okina is busy with a 'guest' at the moment, but he will be with you as soon as he can." The way Omasu emphasised the word guest made Tokio prick up her ears. "In the meantime, is there anything we can get you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Just some tea, and a place to rest until my maid finishes her errands." Tokio did not eat in public places – she never had to. Omasu smiled and sat down with her, taking a break.

"We're glad to see you up and about again. You had us worried a while back."

"Well, I really have you to thank."

"Us, and that handsome Shinsengumi Captain, right?" Omasu's smile widened mischievously.

"The Shinsengumi have been very valuable allies of Aizu." Tokio said evenly.

"Oh come on, the people who know, know, you know?"

"I'm sure that I don't know what you're talking about." Tokio sniffed.

"Oh really? Okita-san is very handsome. I approve, even if it is a secret affair."

"... You're talking about Okita-sama?"

"Of course! Who else?"

Tokio looked taken aback, but then lifted a hand to her face as she laughed quietly.

"That certainly is news to me!"

A puzzled look appeared on Okon's face. And then a look of realization, and one of abject shock replaced it.

"No!" She gasped in a whisper. She hissed, "I heard it was the Third Captain, but I thought that there must be a mistake and they meant Okita Souji. I mean, sheesh, look at the two of them, which seems more suited to you!"

"I'm sure that I don't know what you're talking about," Tokio repeated unconcernedly.

"Ewuuh! You like the Freaky One!" Omasu looked aghast.

"Freaky one? That's hardly appropriate -" Tokio started to protest.

"Oh goodness, you do like him!" Omasu wavered between a shriek of humour and a shriek of dismay.

Just then, Okon's head emerged from behind the kitchen door.

"Omasu, could you give us a hand? And hello Tokio-san, Okina will see you now. Come right through."

Tokio gave an inaudible sigh of relief as she stood up. As Omasu disappeared into the kitchen she murmured,

"Tokio-chan, I don't understand your tastes."

Tokio smiled a little ruefully.

She made her way to the guest room, where she found Okina waiting, her father's message before him. She bowed as she entered and he signaled that she should sit.

"Tokio-san, it is good to see you again."

"My most sincere gratitude, Okina-san. It is thanks to you that I can be here."

"Those young Shinsengumi Captains did well."

She bit the inside of her bottom lip, wondering whether he would pursue the topic. He didn't. Instead, he sighed and refolded the letter.

"... I apologise if this is an imposition. I understand that you had a guest..."

"You, an imposition? Hardly Tokio-san. I apologise for having kept you waiting. It was just that this person was not someone I wanted you to meet." She caught his eye and tilted her head slightly. Okina was technically obliged to tell her anything that he knew. "If you really must know," he continued in answer to the unspoken question, "it was old man Tatsumi from the Yami-no-Bu."

"... He must be old if you say so."

"Don't get smart with me, young lady." Okina glared, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"I don't think I've had the pleasure of his acquaintance," she said thoughtfully.

"I don't think it would be a pleasure to make his acquaintance."

The Yami-no-Bu: a group of shadow warriors that the Bakufu had employed. She wrinkled her nose as she sipped her tea. How low had they stooped to engage such unsavoury characters?

"And what business had they here?"

"Tatsumi likes to unnerve me by dropping by every now and then. This time he came to gloat about his current assignment." Okina said with uncharacteristic sourness in his voice.

"... Current assignment?"

"It has to do with Himura Battousai." Okina's tone was no longer that of a genial old man, but stern and grim.

The Yami-no-Bu had been assigned specifically to the task of eliminating the assassin many months ago, and all other parties, including the Oniwaban-shuu, had been pulled from the case.

She frowned, and fear had crept into her eyes. Himura Battousai had all but disappeared. She could almost pretend that he had never existed, they had had no news of him since Kinmon no Hen. She dreaded to think what his return to the streets of Kyoto would entail. Okina nodded, knowing what was going through her mind.

"Tatsumi said that things would come to a head fairly soon, that they had trapped him in a foolproof plan. I don't know what that means, so unfortunately I can't tell you."

She recalled the redheaded youth that she had encountered all those months ago. She shuddered at the memory. So young, so idealistic, and yet so fatal – a deadly combination. Okina's information troubled her. Now would be a particularly bad time to stir the hornets' nest, with the underlying tensions and Aizu on unsound footing.

"... Is there anything else you can tell me regarding this?"

"I'm afraid that there's been a restriction of all information regarding the Battousai, it goes only to Tatsumi. I'll do what I can, but I can't promise you anything." Okina drained his cup of tea, and added in a harsh voice, "If there ever was a bunch of blackguards, it's the Yami-no-Bu. To think that we have to associate with them..." He did not finish the sentence, allowing the menacing tone to hang in the air.

"So..." Tokio inhaled deeply. "We can expect that terror in the city soon. And the streets will be that much more dangerous for it..."

"If I may say so, my Lady, the streets are already dangerous enough. And especially for you." She looked at him sharply. "Your abductors, there were only eleven of them. And yet, they were calling each other by the animals of the Zodiac."

"The assumption was that the twelfth was Katsura Kogorou." She had wondered about that herself, but the captive Saitou and Okita had brought back had indicated that it was so. Not that she didn't have her doubts, but the Shinsengumi had been very thorough in their interrogation. Too thorough, in fact – Hijikata had killed him.

"The assumption was incorrect. There was a twelfth, Inoshishi, and he remains at large."

Her cheeks flashed as the blood momentarily drained from her cheeks.

"Hmph. He probably thinks it's clever, punning Inoshishi with Ishin-shishi." She tried to recover her composure, trying to show that she would not be cowed. "Whereas it simply reinforces the notion of what pigs they are." Men who kidnapped women and abused them as leverage were nothing but pigs.

"Tokio-san, we'd rather not repeat the ordeal of your abduction. And of course you'll inform your father about this?" She bowed her head. "And speaking of your father, how is he?"

"He is fine, busy but well." She smiled with slight hesitation. He was a little too well, in her opinion – everything at Koumyouji was running twice as efficiently as normal, in contrast to the languid atmosphere of Kyoto.

"That's good to hear. He is quite concerned about you. In fact, he's asked me in this letter to keep an eye on your activities." Okina pulled out the letter again, and Tokio narrowed her eyes. "I don't mind telling you this, as I think this will convince you to stop your night time ramblings. It would kill two birds with one stone: you stay in the compound, and you'll be safe, and I won't have to report to your father when he asks me what you were doing on such and such a night."

She bit her lip, looking witheringly at the piece of paper.

"... Am I to take it that everybody knows about my private affairs?"

"I'm in the business to know, Tokio-san. I'd be worried if I didn't know such things, and so would you." Okina chuckled.

"... I appreciate your discretion, Okina-san." Tokio bowed again.

"Well, just don't make me lie to your father while he's here. And Shiro will escort you back to Koumyouji." Okina paused. "Though honestly, I have to doubt your tastes, if I may be so bold. That hairstyle? And those slits for eyes?" Okina guffawed at Tokio's expense, and Tokio made a mental note that next time, she should bring some sweets that were slightly off and bound to cause discomfort to the digestive constitution.

Saitou watched as Tokio walked down the street, accompanied by O-Kiku and a familiar looking man. She seemed to be lost in thought, oblivious to the cries of the merchants selling their wares and to the fact that he was only yards away. It was O-Kiku who noticed him first, and pulling on her mistress' sleeve, drew her attention to him. He did not move from his position at the door of an inn, waiting instead for her to approach him. If she was going to approach him. The man, he recognized him now, was Shiro from the Aoi-ya, which meant that Tokio was attending to confidential business. All the while that the street bustled around them, she held his gaze; unspoken communication as they both searched the other's face for signs of injuryand fatigue, worry, assurances, pain and longing.

'She looks harried,' was Saitou's assessment, as he noticed the way her shoulders were held straight but taut. His lips curved slightly, sardonically, tauntingly, challengingly at the concern in her eyes. She narrowed her eyes, as though to admonish him for making light of her fears. It was simply his way of reassuring her, she knew, but still, she felt she should not be teased. Just as she drew level with him, she looked up at him and gave him the tightest of smiles. He didn't move as he watched her continue her way down the street, their silent exchange noticed by none except her two companions. It was O-Kiku who looked back and gave him the least of bows.

She was a strange creature. There was something about her that he still couldn't put his finger on. When had she started to interest him so? He remembered that the first time he saw her, Harada had yelled at him for not noticing her. At the time, he frankly couldn't have cared less. The only reason that had changed was when he discovered that she was Takagi Kojuurou's daughter, and it was a quirk that he had met her then. With her dressed in her Kyudo gear, that had been a scene beyond attraction and more akin to art. Attraction was the wrong word for that setting. When had he begun to think that she was worth knowing? He snorted and pushed away from the wall that he had been leaning against and started to walk. He might never fully understand his feelings for her, but there was one thing that he was sure of. She was someone worth knowing.

"Saitou-san, have you heard the latest news?" Okita approached him after the evening meal as he was preparing to clean his sword.

"I hear a lot of things, mostly because people like you feel that I need to be pestered." Saitou started to remove the screws in the hilt and scabbard without as much as a glance at Okita. "Why they think I'm interested in their petty lives is beyond me."

"Aaww, because you're the grouch with the heart of gold. There's no use pretending with me, I know that deep down, you really care."

"If that's what you think, you're an idiot. On the outside, Okita, it may appear that I don't like you, but deep down inside, I absolutely loathe you and all other twits."

"Ooh, Saitou-san! If you were as defensive with your sword as you are with your words, you'd be minus a few unsightly scars, y'know."

Saitou swung his blade around, causing Okita to duck hastily.

"Hey!"

"How careless of me, I missed."

Okita grunted in discontent and stretched out on his back on the floor of Saitou's room. Saitou ignored him. The two were closest in age to each other among the Shinsengumi executives, but the most different in temperament. Except for a mutual inclination for tormenting each other, perhaps. Still, their's was a camaraderie based on tacit respect and implicit acknowledgement of each other's strengths and shared ideals, and both were content with that. Saitou continued to polish his sword in silence, checking it for nicks and cracks.

"... Nagakura-san was told to be on the look-out for an Ishin-shishi calling himself Inoshishi when he patrols tonight." Okita looked as though he was addressing the ceiling.

"An Ishin-shishi called Inoshishi?" Saitou snorted at the tasteless alliteration.

"Hijikata-san heard from Koumyouji." Okita paused, knowing that he had caught Saitou's attention. "He's supposed to be the twelfth member of the Juunishi that we encountered outside Fushimi."

"That was supposed to be Katsura Kogorou." Saitou said in an offhanded way.

"We supposed wrong." There was silence in the air, and Okita reflected that most of the summer insects had died and left an emptiness amidst the night noises. "There are also rumours concerning Himura Battousai." Saitou's small hammer missed a beat tapping on the blade. He fixed Okita with a piercing glare. "We don't know what exactly, but I wouldn't be surprised if the lull these past months were a feint. He'll come back with a vengeance."

Saitou kept silent as he mulled over the new information. So, there had been a twelfth member of the group that abducted Tokio. And he was in Kyoto, if Nagakura had been asked to watch for him specifically. And Hitokiri Battousai... Where had he been hiding all these months? Saitou grinned malevolently at the thought of a rematch. Whereas Battousai had been keeping a low profile, he had seen plenty of action. It remained to be seen whether this gap would manifest itself when they met again.

"Saitou-san, you're really creepy when you smile." Okita interrupted his thoughts.

"... How about this then?" Saitou relaxed the muscles around his eyes until they became merry, thin slits and his mouth, instead of baring its teeth, curved pleasantly.

"AARRGH! Don't ever do that again!" Okita sounded horrified and disgusted. "I'm going to have trouble getting to sleep now."

Saitou went back to concentrating on reattaching the hilt to the blade, not looking at Okita as he sat up.

"... How's the Gatotsu coming along?"

"The Gatotsu?" Saitou frowned, puzzled.

"That move you've been working on, the left-handed thrust."

"You're calling it the Gatotsu?" Saitou frowned, this time in distaste.

"It's very poetic." Okita shrugged merrily.

"I don't care for poetry. And you, since when did I give you permission to name my moves?" Saitou was visibly displeased now.

"Ah, but 'to be a swordsman is to live poetry' is what Hijikata-san says."

"Ahou."

Okita's face clouded over momentarily.

"To be a swordsman is to live poetry, to aspire to be the perfect cherry blossom." That was the ideal image that the samurai invoked. The cherry blossom, which flowers magnificently for such a short time, when it has reached the fullness of its bloom, it falls. The moment between which it leaves the branch flawless and hits the earth, there is perfection. "... So perfect, but such little time." Okita said wistfully. "Such little time, so much to do..."

Saitou did not reply as he slid his sword back in its sheath and started to give it a final polish with a cloth.

"Japan is changing, and it's hard to know what to fight for, to be sure of it. All I know is that we must fight for peace." He sighed and smiled. "One day, when this is over, I want to go back to Tama, see my sister, teach at the Shieikan, maybe start my own branch of kenjutsu. I want to fall in love, I want to have a family, I want children. I think I'd make a good father, once I grow up."

"Our task will never be over, and I assumed that you were already disgustingly in love."

"No, that would be you, Saitou-san." The cloth hit Okita smack in the face as Saitou glared. "Hahaha, try to deny it but you caaannn't!"

"Ahou ga." Saitou spat.

"Hahaha..." Okita pulled his foot up to scratch it. "I don't think I'm really in love with Tokio-san. She's nice, but what's the point when she's clearly thinking about another?" Okita ignored Saitou's growing discomfort. "It's just not fair, you know? What makes you so different to me? I mean, we're different, of course, because I'm stronger and better looking than you-"

"Ahou."

"-but you don't have death's clock ticking away at you."

There was silence in the room again. Okita was smiling, looking out of the room into the courtyard. It was the first time that Okita had broached the topic of his illness. Saitou recalled the times that Okita insisted that he would never grow up – a poignant defiance, and at the same time a bittersweet acceptance. Rougai – tuberculosis. It was not that people with the disease always died (just the overwhelming majority of them), but for a slim chance of recovery, rest was absolutely vital, and Okita would not rest. Illness was a foe that neither of them could defeat by any amount of training or learning new moves.

"We get what everybody gets, we get a lifetime." Those were the only words that Saitou could think to say. "We could both be struck down in battle on any night. It's pathetic to pity yourself, assuming that you're the only one with 'death's clock ticking away'."

"...You're right, I know." Okita looked back at him. "... It's just that I really would like to see peace reign in Japan before it ticks all its tocks away."

"Hmph. Then there's only one thing for that, isn't there?" Saitou smirked.

"What?"

"Aku. Soku. Zan!" In a lightning move of his left arm, his sword flashed in the lamplight and sliced the air next to Okita's face.

Okita looked bemused.

"Haha, you remembered! And you know, you seem to be getting the hand of this Gatotsu."

"Stop calling it that."

In a room not too far away, Hijikata frowned at the moth that flew into his room. It beat against the lampshade, casting its fluttery shadow against the room. He disliked moths. The way they beat their wings reminded him of the cough caught in Okita's chest. He could hear Okita's laugh ring out every now and again – probably from Saitou's room. Two of his best men, and the two that caused him the most headaches. He was in a foul mood as it was, having disagreed very vocally with Yamanami earlier about the austere and unforgiving discipline that the Shinsengumi charter required. 'Yamanami's gone soft,' he glowered, 'the men know the rules, they know what's coming to them if they break them.' With Kondou still in Edo, the two Vice Commanders had no mediator to work out their differences. Then there was Okita with his health. There was Saitou with that Takagi girl. He sat up abruptly, trying to shake his mind of the irksome thoughts. Only then did he notice Saitou had appeared in the corridor.

The two regarded each other icily for a good few moments, until Hijikata jerked his chin at Saitou.

"What do you want?"

"... Am I to assume that I'll have to hear all news from Koumyouji second-hand?"

"Hmph. You've got your own little sources, don't you, that penpal of yours."

Saitou didn't move a muscle, which began to unnerve Hijikata.

"Here." He moved abruptly and snatched a letter off his desk. He handed it to Saitou, who took it, read it, raised an eyebrow, and handed it back. As he watched the tall figure stalk off into the dark halls, Hijikata kicked out at a pillar and stubbed his toe. It was a bad day for Hijikata Toshizou.

Footsteps crunched in the gravel outside the walls of Koumyouji. Saitou Hajime stiffened slightly, but the sound was only a group of geisha and some men passing by. It was they who threw curious looks in his direction as he leaned back against the wall. Tokio would not be out tonight. He knew this, but still he had to be sure. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again, and quickly withdrew an object from his sleeves. A long-stemmed purple flower and a note tied to it with string. He had found it attached to the side-gate, and the note was in her writing. "The gentian stands for truth and justice," it said. Makoto – that was the meaning of the flower. He frowned as he looked at it again. Sentimentalism did not suit him, and he could see no resemblance between its purple heads and his cause.

'Typical woman,' he said to himself.

The information from that evening weighed on his mind. No wonder Tokio had looked strained. He couldn't claim to understand her fears regarding her ordeal (after all, he had never been abducted), but the fear of losing her had been nearly too much. Whether Inoshishi (he grimaced again at the ridiculous name) would come after her, he didn't know. It all depended on whether he would try to avenge his gang on her or the Shinsengumi. If it was against her, it would only mean that he was an animal like that whose name he had taken, and he had no hesitation about killing him. If it was after the Shinsengumi that he came, he still had no hesitation killing him. In fact, there were few people that Saitou hesitated killing once it was set in his mind that they deserved to die.

And then, there was the Battousai. He couldn't help the slight thrill of anticipation he felt when he imagined a rematch. Of course, for the greater good, it would be better that he remain disappeared. But for his own satisfaction... Gatotsu. It had a ring to it that might grow on him.

She would not be out tonight. At least she had more sense than to wander the streets when someone was supposedly out for her blood (and her father was keeping an eye on her too probably). He was there more for his own peace of mind, to see to it that no suspicious figures (besides himself) were lurking around the Koumyouji compound. He would do one round of the outside walls, just to be certain that no irregular activities were underway, and he would go back to Mibu. Or wherever Harada and Okita were – he knew they were drinking, and it had been a while since he had a proper night out. His last few nights off duty had been spent in her company. Not that he begrudged that fact. As he had said to himself earlier, she was someone worth knowing.

A faint smile appeared as he remembered the last time he had walked with her to the river. She had been jealous. She had been ridiculously overdressed (by her standards). Her lips had been delicious. As he lingered over that memory, a faint scent fragranced the air, as if to accentuate the image. He looked around, and noticed an autumn camellia tree in flower, hanging over the wall of a nearby garden. In the moonlight, it glistened with dew. Before he realized what he was doing, he had sliced off a twig bearing a full blossom. Frowning as he stood with it in his hand, he was about to let it drop to the ground. He hesitated, and instead, continued walking, hiding it in his sleeve. When he had completed a full tour, he glanced quickly around to make sure no one was near, and tied the camellia to the side-gate. If she found it, she found it. If not, well nobody would know he had left it there.

With that, he took long strides away from Koumyouji, rapidly distancing himself from the scene. He scowled as he started to hit the bars that Harada frequented (there were many, but everyone knew Harada and he wasn't hard to find after a few questions). As Okita and Harada greeted him exuberantly, he snatched their cups of sake and drained them. As the two realised what Saitou had just done, they started to brawl, much to the annoyance of the other customers. Saitou couldn't care less. He had emasculated himself enough for one night, it was time to reassert his masculinity.

Tokio had lain awake for most of the night, only starting to drift off when the dawn chorus started. She heard the earliest noises of the morning traders as they came into the city to unload their goods and watched as the eastern sky started to lighten. Dawn in Japan always came early, the Land of the Rising Sun. Tokio had not tossed or turned, preferring instead to lie still, looking out at the garden as she contemplated. Her abductors – one of them was still out there. She steeled herself against an involuntary shudder. Himura Battousai: what had the Yami-no-Bu planned? Did it mean that the Battousai was stealing through the streets again, searching out victims for assassination? Her father – he should leave the city as soon as possible, before the snows started to fall. He might refuse to leave without her. Would she go with him? Perhaps she would have to. It was not as though she was indispensable to operations here. But she didn't want to leave. Not so long as he remained in Kyoto. She let out a long breath. Saitou Hajime, did he find her note? She had no certainty that he would have come tonight, but she thought he might, especially if he had heard the news. She buried her face in her pillow as she smiled at the thought. 'The Freaky One indeed!' She thought indignantly. Just as she was drifting to sleep, to dreams of amber eyes, the compound started to wake up. She was reluctantly roused from her sleep as the monks preparing for morning prayers hit the temple bell. The sound vibrated through the air, causing not a few birds to take wing. The first flight of the morning.

Resigned to the fact that she would not be able to sleep now, and that she'd do better to nap in the afternoon, she sat up, caught her robe and donned it over her yukata. She quietly left her room, and headed to the side gate. She wanted to check whether he had been. As she opened the gate, she caught sight of the camellia dangling from the handle. Her heart jumped and an irrepressible smile broke over her face. She closed the gate again and brought the flower to her cheek. The sweet smell washed over her senses, as though reviving her from her sleepless night. She gave a little laugh as she remembered what the autumn camellia represented. 'To win against the odds, earnestness and pure love'. She doubted that he knew this, but it was a happy little coincidence.