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Tanabata Jasmine: Chapter 15 - The Mouse

by Nekotsuki ::: 01.Sep.2004

The cup had dropped from slender fingers, upended on the blankets. Himura Kenshin, still with his back to the wall, breathed deeply and evenly, chin tilted to his chest. His fiery bangs had fallen across his face, shrouding it in darkness.

Senzo watched him from the doorway with a thoughtful expression. That violet gaze was thankfully absent now, shuttered away by the enforced sleep of drugged water. The dosage the merchant used was tasteless, but even so, he had half expected Kenshin to be wily enough to detect it.

He approached the sleeping figure carefully, candle in hand, and reached out to sweep the tangle of hair back from his angular face. Light flickered across a profile with features softened in repose. Senzo let the bangs fall with a sigh. He hooked the cup with two fingers and placed it on the cupboard, then sat on the edge of the bed, leaned across the man and jabbed a thumb lightly, experimentally, into his shoulder.

No reaction.

"Ah, well," he murmured. "I suppose we don’t have to do everything the hard way."

"Is he out?"

He glanced back to the doorway as he stood, smoothing out his kimono. "Hai, Yoshida-kun. Sleeping like a child. Makes for an endearing image, don’t you think?"

The larger man unfolded himself from his casual position against the door frame. "I suggest you don’t repeat that when he’s awake."

"He already hates me," Senzo said mildly. "I hardly think any further action of mine will change his feelings either way."

Yoshida shrugged in response, and turned away without another word. The merchant followed him out, glancing back once before leaving the room. He locked the door behind him, in any case. One could never be too careful.

---------

They made port in Osaka in the late afternoon, sailing into the docks as the sun began to sink low in the sky, reflecting a trail of fire glittering across the waves. The dockside was still bustling with the last of the day’s traffic. Senzo scanned the crowd of dock workers and traders as his men secured the fishing boat to its moorings, searching for signs of potential trouble. He would wait until nightfall before he acted, to ensure maximum privacy, particularly given the possibility that the police in Osaka had been alerted to his movements.

There was one man who would be able to confirm whether this was the case or not. His eyes fastened on the jarring image of a police uniform in the crowd, and narrowed as he realised the officer was weaving his way through obstacles in an inexorable path towards the boat.

"Trouble?" Yoshida, at his shoulder.

Senzo shook his head. "If the police had discovered us, they would send more than one officer to deal with the situation." His mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Rather, I think this is the delivery of bad news."

Yoshida glanced at him in puzzlement, then back to the police officer in question. The man approached at a steady pace along the pier, stopping at the base of the lowered gangplank to return Senzo’s gaze. The merchant sighed in recognition.

The officer smiled thinly as he lifted a gloved hand to remove his hat, displaying a thatch of unruly brown hair over cold, grey eyes. When he spoke, his tone was faintly mocking. "Permission to come aboard."

"Permission granted, Yamato-san." Senzo gave a slight shrug, gesturing across the deck. "By chance, are you here to inspect our wares, or do you have other news to share with us?"

Yamato arched an eyebrow as he drew level with the merchant. "And do you have wares to inspect?"

"Hai, hai." Senzo smiled cheerfully. "Took a little damage in collection, but my stock is still salable. Shall we discuss this further inside?"

Yoshida had already moved away, ducking his head as he entered the navigator’s cabin, holding the door open to allow them entrance. Yamato entered last, eyes raking across the larger man’s bandaged hand, before fastening again on the merchant.

As the door closed quietly, he spoke, tossing his hat onto the table. "You were careless in Tokyo."

"I was unlucky in Tokyo," Senzo amended swiftly.

"Considering the outcome, there is little difference between the two," Yamato’s voice was cool. "Are you aware descriptions of the two of you have been circulated to the stations in both Osaka and Kyoto? You were lucky I was on hand to receive the telegram here when it came in, or the docks would be crawling with the police."

"And it is appreciated, I’m sure, Yamato-san, but it’s hardly something I was not expecting at this juncture."

"Nevertheless, it makes things difficult." Yamato scowled. "You should have killed the occupants of that dojo the night you took him. There was nothing standing in your way."

Senzo gave a snort of irritation. "With all due respect, Yamato-san, how I conduct my business is no concern of yours. My contract is with Bayushi-san, not you, and I am a merchant, not a killer." Like you, he added silently. Something he wasn’t stupid enough – or brave enough, if he wanted to be honest – to add aloud. "If you were going to find fault with my operation, you shouldn’t have suggested to Bayushi-san that he hire me. If you are only here to complain, you may as well go."

"Not a killer?" The other man smiled mockingly. "That didn’t stop you from trying to have Zanza killed. It also didn’t stop your associate here from trying to murder the woman and the boy."

And there was the other piece of the puzzle that he had been missing. Senzo glanced up to meet Yoshida’s impassive stare. He wondered which one had broken his fingers. Rather humiliating for the man, whether it had been the girl or the child. He blinked owlishly as he turned back to Yamato, and kept his voice mild. "Necessity differs from choice, Yamato-san. And I am hardly the keeper of another man’s actions."

There was a lengthy silence in the cabin, broken only by the sounds of the dock traffic outside.

Eventually, Yamato gave a minute shrug. "The Kamiya girl and her friends are on their way to Kyoto. Once they arrive, they will make contact with certain ... unfavourable allies, I’m sure. You must be careful to remain unseen, merchant. To this end, I have come to offer my assistance in leaving this dock area undetected. I will bring transportation for you." He bowed slightly, and picked up his hat. "How is Battousai?"

"Harmless." Senzo smiled pleasantly. "He will present no problems, although as I said, he is injured."

"I doubt Bayushi will care," muttered the other man as he opened the door. "If Battousai is capable of holding a conversation, that’s all that matters. I will return an hour after sundown. Be ready."

He left without another word. Senzo scowled at his retreating back, and then turned his glare on Yoshida. "Is there anything else you should be telling me?"

Yoshida glanced down at his hand, and smiled faintly. "Iie."

He was lying, Senzo was sure; but Yoshida had never willingly done anything to compromise a deal. He considered the options, and narrowed his eyes. "You will keep any vendetta you have in mind until after our bargain is concluded. Am I clear?"

The smile became wider.

"Perfectly," Yoshida said.

---------

Time passed, and the merchant watched as the workers scattered across the dock area thinned, then dispersed entirely. Lanterns had been lit, and hung low in the rigging as the sun had vanished, giving way to a clear summer night. On the deck, the sailors crouched, engaged in a game of dice with Yoshida’s remaining men. Yoshida was back at the bow, staring into the darkness of the water. Or maybe staring at his hand again; Senzo couldn’t tell from his position, and didn’t particularly care.

If Battousai is capable of holding a conversation, that’s all that matters. He smiled ruefully. He was beginning to get the impression that the rurouni wasn’t going to survive this particular jaunt. He hadn’t missed the flare of hatred that crossed Yamato’s face when his name was mentioned. It was a shame. Perhaps he would send his jasmine flowers to the woman as consolation for his death, should it occur. He did promise them to Kenshin, after all.

He flicked his gaze across the deserted docks as he heard the sound of voices. Yamato was returning; with company, by the sounds of things. Senzo straightened from his casual slouch against the rail, turned and whistled sharply to gain the attention of his crew. "It’s time. Jotaro! Give me a hand."

Jotaro rose from the circle of dicers as the merchant crossed the deck to the stairs leading into the depths of the boat. He was nearly done with this contract. Distasteful as it may have been, he was looking forward to the exchange, and the rest of his fee. The thought of closure cheered him. He descended into the dark corridor, humming as Yoshida’s man followed behind him silently with a lantern in hand, and produced a key from the folds of his kimono. Above deck, he could hear Yoshida issuing orders, a preparation to leave; dice scattered across the planking as the men rose to their feet.

"Almost done," he muttered, and turned the key in the door, pushing it inward. The darkness within was impenetrable. He turned and took the lantern from Jotaro and swung it through the doorway.

The light caught and reflected unexpected movement; violet eyes hued so dark they were almost blue, glittering with cold fury in a pale face set in determination. For a moment, all Senzo could feel was stark terror as those frightening eyes locked with his, and he drew breath to scream, too late.

Kenshin swung, left-handed, and broke the chair across his head.

---------

It had taken every ounce of discipline he possessed not to flinch at the flare of agony Senzo’s earlier prodding had produced. And if the merchant hadn’t locked the door on his departure, Kenshin would have chosen discretion and attempted to leave quietly. However, the option was not available to him ... and the idea of allowing himself to be carted around like a child, wrapped in constricting blankets, wasn’t one he was willing to stomach. He knew they had docked. Could hear the people, the faint thump of the boat as it had been brought in to the pier. From there it was patience, a waiting game, tempering the fire of his justifiable anger into cool resolve as he watched the door and waited for the steady footsteps of his jailors.

And Senzo had been the one to open the door, which was fitting.

The chair was flimsy, and badly made; it shattered with the impact. Senzo bounced off the door frame with a cry, and fell to his knees as the lantern dropped to the floor amidst the broken timber of Kenshin’s only weapon, going out and plunging them into darkness. His hand still gripped the leg of the chair, a length of wood splintered into sharpness at the break point. As the merchant began to struggle upright, he flipped the chair leg over, grasping it instead by the jagged end, and slugged his kidnapper in the chin with all the force he could muster.

Senzo crumpled bonelessly. Kenshin leapt over the body into the hallway beyond, coming face to face with a younger man drawing his sword, features pallid with shock. Above deck, a call went up; the disturbance had been heard. He ducked low and dove forward, driving his makeshift weapon into the man’s gut before the man could swing, biting back a cry of his own as the man folded with a pained gasp, collapsing across Kenshin’s shoulder and sending a wave of hurt through his body.

He shoved the swordsman onto the floor with gritted teeth, readjusted his grip on the chair leg, and sprinted down the corridor for the stairs before the man could recover, bare feet slapping across the planking as he took them two at a time. A sailor appeared at the top of the stairs; with a smirk, he lifted a heavy foot to kick him in the face. Kenshin jerked his head almost casually aside from the clumsy blow, hooked his fingers in the cloth of the man’s hakama and yanked, hard. The sailor yelped as he was pulled off balance and fell past him into the darkness below.

Two steps more and Kenshin was in the open air for the first time in days. His quick gaze took in the summer night, a group of sailors staring at him in astonishment. The steady, competent presence of the swordsman, katana drawn, staring at him warily from the side rail. The darker presence of Yoshida behind them all, ki flaring in sharp hostility.

Kenshin tilted his head, assessing the competence of the sailors as they recovered from their surprise and charged him with a yell. Not trained fighters but casual brawlers, and men who apparently did not learn from past mistakes. He kept one eye on the swordsman as he sidestepped the first rush and brought the chair leg down across the back of a man’s neck, sending him, too, hurtling down the stairs. Then he was off, ducking under powerful arms and darting out of their reach.

Easy enough to avoid their clumsy attempts at hurting him, maneuvering his way across coiled rope and salt-stained wood. Easy enough to wait for a man to overextend himself, for Kenshin to take advantage of opportunity and strike. He didn’t hold back on his attacks; couldn’t afford to, given the circumstances. The stricture of the bandaging on his arm was a hindrance, offsetting his natural balance and forcing him to compensate. He had no room for error or leniency, and no energy to expend wastefully on lesser opponents. Not when Yoshida and the other swordsman had yet to close, observing the melee from a distance.

He handled the chair leg with vicious poise, dancing between his attackers in deft avoidance of grappling hands as he struck one in the jaw and another in the ribs, paring off his opponents one by one. One was lucky enough to snag a handful of his hair, loose and flaring around his face, and yanked hard, nearly pulling him off his feet. Kenshin snarled and swung backwards with expert precision, smacking the man in the mouth. The sailor screamed and fell to his knees with both hands up to his face, torn red hair still twined around his fingers.

Kenshin ignored the sting of fresh injury to his scalp as he recovered balance, blocked a punch aimed at his face with his forearm, and skipped backward a step, glancing briefly for the whereabouts of the gangplank. If he could make it to the docks, fighting would no longer be an issue, and as much as he hated to turn and run, it was the wiser choice given the circumstances. Yoshida’s man had already anticipated him; was standing between him and freedom, sword glinting under the moonlight.

Well, between him and the most direct path to freedom, at least.

He turned his attention back to the last of the sailors – three remaining, now more cautious in their approach – and caught on the edge of his vision the shimmer of metal as Yoshida finally moved on his other side, the outward flick of his wrist giving his intention away. Kenshin froze for a brief moment with indecision as the kunai skimmed across the distance, and then, through lack of any other option he cared to take, brought the chair leg up in front of his face. Two of the knives embedded themselves in the wood, sending fine cracks up its length. The third scored a welt across his forearm deep enough for the tip to scrape across the bone, catching briefly before spinning away harmlessly to the floor.

A split second later, beyond all hope of avoidance, a large fist slammed into the side of his head, and he staggered under the force of the impact, gritting his teeth against the pain. He narrowly avoided a second strike, reeled upright and shot a level glare at Yoshida as he retaliated, driving the end of the chair leg into his current assailant’s jaw, felling him.

"You dropped your guard to block my kunai." Yoshida raised an eyebrow. "That wasn’t the wisest of choices. You could have avoided them altogether."

"If I did, you would have killed one of your own men," Kenshin retorted, narrowing his gaze at the mocking tone of the other man’s voice. "And you know it." His words caused the last two sailors to hesitate, turning an uncertain look in Yoshida’s direction. He blinked, trying to keep his vision in focus. The punch had been brutally hard.

"You can’t win this," Yoshida said calmly, ignoring his accusation, stepping up beside the swordsman. "That weapon of yours is about to break into pieces. Even if it wasn’t, it couldn’t stand against a sword. Give in now, before we harm you further."

But I don’t have to win.

Kenshin took a breath, turned on his heel and sprinted. Not towards the rail that overlooked the pier, where he was obviously expected to try for, but directly for the bow of the boat. It took them all by surprise; it was another second before Yoshida’s snarl of command prompted them to give chase. It was all the head start he needed – he reached the curved rail at the front and vaulted over it, landing precariously on the bowsprit.

If access to the pier was closed to him, he would leap for the high walls of the embankment itself.

Behind him, Yoshida gave a yell of fury as the man realised what he was going to do. Kenshin ignored him, ran up the spar like a cat and launched himself upward and out. He hurtled across the water and landed awkwardly on the stone; with one arm strapped to his chest, he couldn’t retain balance on landing. He stumbled and fell to his knees, then staggered upright, still holding the perforated chair leg gripped in his free hand.

He’d made it.

"Most impressive, Battousai."

Kenshin whirled in the direction of the speaker. A police officer, casually lighting a cigarette. For a moment, in the darkness, he had the wild thought that it was Saitou. But the voice was wrong, and this man was too short to be the former Shinsengumi captain.

The man wasn’t alone. Four men flanked the officer – if he truly was with the police – two of them armed with rifles. Both trained on him.

"If we were all as trusting as the merchant, you could even have succeeded in your attempt to leave," the man continued. "Now, drop your weapon."