Genre

Rating

Spoiler Level

Ikedaya: Part 1

by Mir ::: 08.Feb.2002

"Take care Sir, and be sure to tell your wife that the next coal shipment will be in by Tuesday!" The merchant stood in the doorway of his shop, arms folded casually across his chest and dark eyes squinting into the low afternoon sun. His words, uttered with his unmistakable Kyoto accent, sliced through the thick summer heat, and he wiped his brow with his sleeve as he retreated back inside. Above his head hung a wooden sign reading: "Kiemon's Masuya Shop -- utensils, gadgets, and other paraphernalia," and the characters were fading into fuzzy shadows as the daylight steadily disappeared.

The merchant known as Kiemon passed through the public area of the shop to the back and into his small kitchen. An unassuming man, mild- mannered and physically unremarkable, he'd lived by himself, running the shop alone for as long as any of his neighbors could remember. They knew of no family, no close friends, no significant other in his life, but he seemed content with his solitary existence, and it wasn't polite to press him for details.

The evening air was heavy with humidity, and the merchant yawned as he sat down to his modest dinner. He reached languidly for his chopsticks and resolved to go to bed early.

"Kotaka Shuntaro, come out! We know you're in there!" Fists banged heavily upon the building's wooden frame, and the merchant's chopsticks froze midway between the bowl and his mouth. Emotion flashed rapidly across his face, first terror, then anger and determination. He rose to his feet and crept toward the front of the shop, but he hadn't gone more than five or six paces when the ripping of paper and the crashing of merchandise signaled that the intruders had entered. "Find the Choushuu bastard and bring him here... alive."

There was no mistaking the undertone of disgust in the command, and the merchant's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the speaker to be the ruthless wolf of Miburo, Saitou Hajime, the leader of the third squad of the Shinsengumi. There was no place to hide in the darkened room -- not that he would have if there had been, for he had his own warrior's pride, but the only weapons at his disposal were his bare fists, and he knew that, surrounded by Shinsengumi, there was no hope of escape.

"There he is -- it's the Choushuu spy!" Two men burst into the room, blue stripes on their haori and naked swords held before them. Barely pausing at the threshold, they rushed forward toward their unmoving target. And when they were within range, the merchant lashed out with fists and feet, landing a kick to one man's head but swinging wide of his other opponent. He ducked as a sword sliced through the air above his head. Then, without missing a beat, he used the swordsman's momentum to his advantage and landed a punch that sent the man sprawling to the floor and his sword crashing to the ground beside him. The stench of sweat assailed his senses as he struggled to catch his breath.

"You've been a damned nuisance, Kotaka, but this is the end of the line for you and the rest of the Choushuu Imperialists." Saitou's tall frame appeared in the doorway, his voice low and cold, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The flickering light of lanterns behind him cast his long shadow onto the floor of the darkened room.

"Whatever you do, you will not win." Kotaka, alias Kiemon, a ronin samurai and Choushuu spy, had known the moment he'd heard his true name that his time had come. His only regret was that he wouldn't have the satisfaction of taking down a good number of those worthless blue-coated thugs with him. "You Shinsengumi are nothing but pawns to the Bakufu and Aizu." The rational part of his mind took note of Saitou's gatotsu stance, but even knowing the technique, he had nothing with which to parry the powerful horizontal thrust. His world went black, and he welcomed death as an escape from the relentless struggle of life. As was understood through the code of Bushido, the most noble thing a warrior could do was die.

"It's you who's the pawn, a pawn to foolishness and idiocy." Saitou extracted his sword from the unmoving heap, flicked the blood off, and resheathed it without further comment. If Kotaka had been conscious he would have appreciated the efficiency of motion and the calm assurance of his opponent's demeanor, but he was in no position to do so.

"Captain, sir --" The excited call dispelled the stillness, and the young swordsman, barely out of his teens, who appeared in the doorway was breathless with excitement. "-- we're found documents, papers outlining the rebels' plans, but what's more, we've found a stash of guns and ammunition in the basement!"

Nodding in acknowledgement, Saitou swept past his two fallen comrades back out into the humid night. "Take the moron over there back to headquarters. I've some questions to ask him." And as the darkness enveloped the famed wolf of Miburo, his lip curled upward into a cool grin, part-sneer part-smile. Their informant had been correct, and the night's activities had proved useful, yes very useful indeed.

- - - - - - - - - -

"The prisoner's ready, Captain." The young man, gaunt and clad in faded gray, emerged from the interior room with a grim set to his features. "And he's just coming 'round." He wiped his hands down the sides of his hakama, leaving moist sweaty trails down his legs. "I'll leave you with him. He shouldn't give you any trouble."

The room was dark and constructed with solid wooden walls instead of paper shouji. The soft glow of lanterns cast isolated pools of light onto the bare floor, and the air was still, the heat sweltering. Hung suspended in the air by thick ropes was the merchant, his head a good distance from the floor and his feet raised above him, knees tied to his chest.

"Kotaka." At the noise the man stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping his lips. And as he opened his eyes, the blurred patches of light and dark coalesced into the tall form of Saitou Hajime still wearing his blue-striped haori, both swords at his side. The wolf emerged from the shadows, his footsteps soundless and movements effortless, nothing betraying the weariness brought about by the night's lack of sleep. "Tell me about the guns and artillery." The merchant's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing. "We searched your basement and found everything: papers, weapons, ammunition." Saitou stood within two paces of his prisoner's head, arms folded across his chest, gaze cold, penetrating, unforgiving.

"If you knew everything, I'd already be dead." The merchant spat as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, aiming for Saitou's feet but missing. The Shinsengumi captain remained unmoving where he stood. He waited tacitly in the semi-darkness, waited like a man who had all the time in the world.

"You've lived a worthless life, Kotaka, and you'll die a worthless death regardless. How could it be any different for a man who laid aside his pride to live as a merchant spy for the most corrupt and despicable of the Ishinshishi? What else can expect after sinking so deep into filth and corruption?" With a soft rustle of fabric he turned away from the prisoner, gaze drifting across the wooden walls to the ceiling two stories up. "If you talk you'll die swiftly by the sword. Otherwise, you can rot in here for all I care."

Kotaka shook his head slightly, lips pressed together in both pain and stubbornness. His death was assured regardless of his future actions, and he would not betray his comrades; their work was too important. Nonetheless, at the sound of a sword being slid from its sheath, his heart skipped a beat in his chest, and adrenalin shot through his veins. His hands clenched into fists, and he inhaled sharply. Instincts once learned are difficult to discard.

- - - - - - - - - -

A smudge of darkness underneath the pale light of dawn, the wolf emerged into daylight, his footsteps heavy, but as he walked with head held high, and a trace of smug satisfaction flickered across his features. The guard dozing at the door didn't wake as his captain passed by, but there was little need for his services at the present hour anyway. The spy formerly known as Kotaka lay crumpled in a bloody heap on the floor, his body still warm, his vacant eyes starting blankly into darkness.

- - - - - - - - - -

The Choushuu headquarters in Kyoto was no less spared from the stifling heat than the rest of the city. The guards at the entrance shifted restlessly from foot to foot, hands on their swords and sweat dripping into their eyes. Inside, Katsura Kogoro, one of the highest-ranking officials in the Choushuu government, knelt across from Miyabe Teizo, his hands resting formally on his thighs.

Miyabe, a Kumamoto loyalist and a ronin, stared beseechingly at his younger companion, anguish contorting his heavyset features. "We have to rescue Kotaka. The torture that the Shinsengumi are capable of...." His eyes widened as his imagination began to supply a vivid gallery of possible atrocities. "...and, and if he talks, our plans are ruined."

"They're already ruined," Katsura replied in a low voice, his back straightening as he spoke, "if the Shinsengumi knew enough to arrest him. And if they don't know more already... they soon will." His face was emotionless, but the tenseness in his shoulders and back betrayed his anxiety. His reached for a fan folded by his side and held it tightly with calloused fingers.

Across from him, Miyabe reached up and wiped a white handkerchief across his forehead, staring into Katsura's eyes.

"They'll torture it out of him, torture him then kill him." Katsura broke eye contact, gaze falling to the tatami mats beneath him. Having lived in Kyoto, he was no stranger to the acts that the Shinsengumi were capable of, no stranger to its inflexible code and demand for absolute loyalty of its members. Although the troops were in actuality apolitical, the conduct of Shinsengumi was ruled by the iron fist of its leaders who did not question the virtues of the Bakufu. Their banner was emblazoned with the Chinese character for "sincerity," and they lived the traditional way of the warrior, Bushido -- while receiving monthly stipends from the government.

"Then we have to act quickly. We have to move tonight before the Shinsengumi have time to respond to whatever information they have." Miyabe leaned forward, intent on promoting his cause. He had brought the news of Kotaka's arrest to Katsura in the hope that the Choushuu leader would organize the spy's rescue, but as the truth became evident, he once again turned his attention to the plans that had been made for the storming of the Imperial palace and the kidnapping of the Emperor.

"I'm sorry Miyabe-san, but I can't risk the lives of my men to try and save someone who is most likely already dead." His words, although cool and rational, were tempered by the regret in his tone, and he paused for a moment before continuing. "As for the attack on the palace, how can we fight thousands of Bakufu troops with only twenty or thirty men? We must return to our domains, raise Imperialist armies, and then return to Kyoto. There is nothing we can do now."

Having been recently convinced by the Tosa ronin, Sakamoto Ryoma, of the futility of an attack on the palace, Katsura declined to mention to Miyabe that as the highest ranking Choushuu official in Kyoto he could not have anything to do with a countercoup that would undoubtedly fail -- because the very rashness of the act would weaken his credibility as Choushuu's diplomat to Kyoto.

Miyabe knew that he would have no success in persuading Katsura into immediate action, but he continued to press for commitment. "But the meeting at the Ikedaya Inn tonight, you'll be there? They confiscated all the weapons at the shop, and we have to decide whether or not to go ahead with the plan at a later date." Except for the sounds of the two men's breathing, the room was silent, and the heavy afternoon sunlight streamed through the shouji upon them.

Katsura unfolded the fan, his jaw tightening in agitation. He knew Miyabe's plan to be reckless, but he had to appease the radicals because he could not afford to lose their support. He waved the fan before his face, the movement disguising his distaste. "I'll be there with some of my men," he promised tersely.

And Miyabe smiled, confident that even Katsura, the headstrong leader of the Ishinshishi in Kyoto, could be convinced of the importance of Kotaka's rescue and of the plans for attacking the palace. "I knew I could count on you. We'll meet at the hour of the dog."

After the other man had left, Katsura remained seated in the empty room, fan once more folded neatly on the ground before him, eyes closed against the sunlight. His breathing was deep and regular, but the young man who slipped in soundlessly through the open doorway knew the Choushuu leader too well to think that he was sleeping.

"And I will accompany you tonight?" In contrast to the confidence of his step and the fluidity of his movements, the speaker's voice was soft and boyish, his tone dull and flat but his eyes sharply piercing.

Not surprised by the other's presence, Katsura hesitated only a moment before shaking his head in negation. "Nothing must happen tonight. The radicals must be convinced that any action would be premature." The words were simple, rational but the warning held undertones of grave consequences. "Stay here. I will go to the Ikedaya."

*end of part 1*