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Oiran: Chapter 4 - Dinner Guest

by Haku Baikou ::: 30.Jul.2003

Her nose and cheeks were numb from the late autumn breeze, which swept across the river, chilling all the occupants of the rowboat. Her eyes closed, Yumi tried to focus on the biting cold, hoping to be distracted from her present predicament. It didn’t work. She then concentrated on the gentle rocking of the boat, on the soft sounds as water sluiced off the oars. Her senses desperately clung to anything, anything that would keep her attention away from what was directly in front of her. Still no success.

It was a desperate, silent battle she fought, a battle to remain calm, to maintain her composure which was on the brink of splintering apart. It was a battle to forget that Mari sat, not three feet away, her pale throat exposed to a wakizashi that had already drawn a small trickle of blood and threatened to release far more. She could hear the geisha whimper softly, poise shattered, reduced to a dazed shadow of her normal self. Mari had fallen apart after the events of the day. Understandable, considering hers was the life in danger here. Her throat was the one that was bared and bleeding.

Yumi gripped the side of the boat tightly. The more Mari fell to pieces, the more Yumi had to hold onto what was left of her own shredded courage. One of them had to keep hold of her senses, had to remain calm until someone would notice they were missing and send Kitada-san and the shirobei to come and rescue them. She tried to think courageous thoughts. But despite her brave intentions, Yumi couldn’t help wanting to cover her face with her hands and cry. She shook. From the cold, from fear, from the horrors she’d witnessed earlier in the day.

“Yumi-san, are you all right? You’re not feeling ill, are you?”

A child’s voice, silvery clear, and faintly tinged with worry.

Soujirou.

“I hope you’re not,” he continued, smiling earnestly at her. “I’m sorry if this boat is uncomfortable. If Shishio-sama had known I would be bringing back guests, I’m sure he would have sent something with softer seats.”

Softer seats. Gods.

Did the boy even realize how crazed the situation was? How incongruous, how utterly insane it was for him to be asking her such a thing when he was the source of her terror? Yumi had the sickening notion that he had no real understanding of the emotional turmoil he was putting his two captives through, that he was honestly and sincerely asking after her welfare. Which, of course, made the situation all the more horrifying. She opened her eyes. And shuddered.

Soujirou was staring at her with the same mild expression he’d maintained since this whole nightmare began. The same genial hint of a smile he’d had when he’d first threatened Mari’s life, the polite look he wore as he slew the unfortunate shirobei who’d tried to stop him at the Main Gate. The same expression he’d had as he had remarked on how lovely the weather was today, and wasn’t it fine to be on the river on such a beautiful day? All spoken while he clutched Mari’s head back by a handful of her hair and held the blade steadily under her chin.

Yumi wondered at the killer before her. She had never seen his like. Had never in her worst nightmares known that a child—such a young and innocent-seeming child—could possess the soul of a monster. That is, if he had a soul at all.

She looked away again, unable to bear the wide-eyed stare of her captor, unable to bear the whited-out fear in Mari’s eyes.

Yumi couldn’t believe this was happening. Her mind had trouble accepting the surreal turn of events to what had begun as such an ordinary day. She’d awakened this morning to find Jubei up, cheerfully readying himself for a trip to Kamatari’s place in the Asakusa. They’d exchanged pleasantries over breakfast and the artist had then gone, while Yumi began preparing for Takei’s arrival. Mari had sat in the corner idly practicing on her koto while Yumi’s servants dressed her in the ornate kimono she would wear for Takei-san’s visit.

Soujirou—who had a child’s resilience and had recovered quickly after a good night’s sleep in a warm bed—had sat quietly in the corner, watching her with interest and asking the occasional politely phrased question. His comments had seemed innocent enough at first. A child’s natural curiosity regarding what would go on during Takei’s visit, what certain objects of Yumi’s wardrobe were called, who Takei-san was….

But then she’d begun to get the distinct impression that his questions were leading somewhere, that he was trying to glean information from her for…for gods knew what. Who was Takei-san exactly. What part did he play in the Bakumatsu. What kind of business did Takei run on the riverfront. Yumi and Mari had been reduced to staring in shock at the boy as he’d asked question after absurdly adult question. She’d shaken her head at the child and answered him in the broadest of terms, disconcerted by his fascination with the former daimyo-turned Ishin Shishi supporter who was now her chief client and her main source of income.

It wasn’t until they were lining up for the douchu late in the afternoon when news came that Takei-san would not be coming. Irritated, Yumi had sent all the other retainers away, and she and Mari had returned to her rooms to find the boy watching them from a window. Soujirou had retained his cheerful manner, but his extreme disappointment was evident as Yumi explained to him why she was back so soon.

She had then taken off her wig and hair pins and peeled out of her ridiculously ornate attire while Mari resumed her comfortable position playing the koto in the corner of the room. Yumi had been staring at her clothes, trying to decide if it was acceptable for her to wear the same outfit for Takei’s next visit, when she’d realized that Mari had stopped playing.

And when she’d turned to ask the geisha to continue, she’d been astounded and horrified to find Soujirou calmly holding his wakizashi to the geisha’s throat. She’d been too shocked to say anything and simply stared at the boy as he politely apologized to them both for what he was about to do.

The rest was a blur.

They’d sneaked out of the ageya through one of the back doors the servants used, then hurried down a side street until they were near the Main Gate. Yumi had thought for sure, then, that she and Mari would be safe since the Main Gate was the only real way out of Yoshiwara, and women were not permitted to pass. There were three other lesser gates, of course, but those were for emergencies only, and the two women and the boy could never open the heavy doors on their own. So the Main Gate was their only choice. And the guards would surely notice them, she had thought. The men would surely stop Soujirou from this madness. Yes, she thought to herself. Getting out of the ageya was one thing. Getting out from the Main Gate was a different matter all together.

She’d nearly cried with relief when, indeed, they were spotted, and the six guards on gate duty had rushed over, blocking them from the exit.

What she hadn’t anticipated, however, was that the guards’ own consciences would be their undoing, and that they’d quickly be defeated. As the first guard neared, Soujirou had exploded into action, running full-tilt at the guard with wakizashi held ready. The guard had blinked and hesitated, not quite able to bring himself to harm a child.

The child, however, had held no such reservations. With lightning speed, he’d leaped toward the man, the wakizashi whipping forth in a broad horizontal arc, decapitating the guard with a violent spray of steamy crimson before anyone could quite realize what exactly had happened.

Mari had screamed then, and dropped to her knees. And Yumi herself had desperately fought the waves of nausea that had threatened to overwhelm her as the man’s head wobbled across the ground, coming to rest a mere arms-length from where Yumi stood.

Bystanders had noticed by then, and chaos had erupted on the main Boulevard as everyone tried at once to run for cover. Yumi had grabbed Mari by the shoulders, trying to lift the girl to her feet. It was their only chance to run at that point, while the child was distracted by the guards and the crowd could hide their passage. But Mari had slumped in her arms and couldn’t seem to move, and Yumi, sickened by the gory site before her, had not had the strength to pull the other woman’s dead weight away.

And so they’d lost their chance. For when she looked up again, Yumi saw that Soujirou had somehow killed another of the guards. And he was no longer alone. Four men, dressed from head to toe in black, had come out of nowhere, entering through the Main Gate. One of them had come towards Yumi at Soujirou’s quickly shouted command and stood guard over the two women. And the other three newcomers had then flanked the boy on each side, swords drawn as they faced the shirobei.

Yumi had no idea where these men had come from, or how they’d known to be at the gate at that particular time, but she could tell they were subordinates of Soujirou by the unquestioning way in which they’d obeyed him and the protective stance they’d taken around him as they faced the four remaining gate guards.

The four guards hadn’t stood a chance and they’d known it. But they fought well nonetheless, before succumbing to their opponents’ attacks. Yumi had watched helplessly, her last hopes dying with the last guard, as the man in black next to her scooped Mari up in his arms and ordered Yumi to follow. She could do nothing but obey since the other three men and Soujirou now stood before her, ready to escort her out.

And so she’d followed them, passing through the Main Gate for the first time since she was sold fifteen years before. A part of her mind had wondered in awe at such a thing. After all, she had dreamed of walking beyond those very gates every day of her life since she’d arrived at Yoshiwara, but this had not been the way she’d imagined doing so. Not like this! Not as a prisoner. Not with her way paved in the blood of good men, Kitada’s men.

Kitada. Where was he, she’d thought desperately.

She’d wished Jubei were with her.

Tears slid uncontrollably down her cheeks as she’d numbly followed her captors out onto the road. She hadn’t resisted when one of them hoisted her up in his arms as the little group picked up their pace and traveled faster in case more of the shirobei came after them. She had simply shut her eyes and clung on tightly as the man ran over the grassy terrain of the field, the bloody field that Jubei had fought in just the night before, she thought to herself. The field that led to the wide Sumida River beyond, a river she had not seen since childhood.

And so. Here they were. On the river and sitting in the rowboat the black-clad men had arrived in. The four of them rowed in silence as Soujirou kept a watchful eye on the two captives.

The sun was setting, outlining the clouds with fire and throwing the sky into a brilliant flare of orange and gold. Soujirou turned a bit to stare off into the distance, and when Yumi followed his gaze, she saw the approaching silhouette of a huge western steamship, a slow, leisurely pleasure craft, the type that could often be seen ferrying foreign tourists up and down the river between cities.

This one seemed oddly empty, however, lacking the brilliant array of lanterns that usually decorated such ships this time of evening. It cleaved through the quiet waters of the river in relative silence, no other noises except for those random mechanical sounds a ship of such size naturally made. And there were no discernible signs of travelers aboard the vessel. The main deck of the ship was empty.

Save for one.

One tall, lone figure, silhouetted against the fiery hues of the darkening horizon. He stood on the port side of the ship’s prow, hands on the railings, leaning slightly forward. Watching them, apparently.

As the rowboat neared the larger vessel, Yumi thought she could see the thin trailings of bandages flapping gently in the breeze, the only signs of motion in the otherwise still figure. She held her breath. This, she realized with a faint shiver up her spine, was Jubei’s demon. She tried to pick out more details, but his features were too dark for her to discern anything. As she squinted, trying to see better, the shadowed figure suddenly straightened and went inside.

Yumi frowned. She had been unable to tell what color his eyes were.

As they boarded the steamship, Yumi was alarmed to see they intended to separate her from Mari. She grabbed Mari’s arm, latching on tightly, refusing to let go as one of the men began to pry at her fingers.

“Let go of me,” she cried, as he tried to pull her away from her friend. Mari looked at her with large, solemn eyes. The girl did not speak, however. Hadn’t uttered a word since they’d seen that guard’s head fly.

“What’s going on here?” asked Soujirou, who had disappeared briefly to presumably speak with his Lord Shishio. He was back now, watching Yumi’s struggle with frank curiosity. “Yumi-san, please let go of Mari-san’s arm. I think you’re hurting her.”

Yumi’s mouth gaped in shock at his accusation. She let go of Mari’s arm.

And something within her snapped.

“I’m…? I’m hurting—How dare you!” she sputtered, incredulously. “Demon child! Abomination! You dare say that to me!” she shrieked. She felt as if floodgates were flung open, and all her frustrations and fears from the day spilled forth, knocking all restraint and good sense aside. She knew the wrong words from her could lead to Mari’s death or her own. But she didn’t care anymore. Had taken all that she could take in one day, and simply didn’t give a damn about it all anymore.

“Let go of my arm!” she cried on the verge of hysteria. “Let go of me, you pigs! You bastards! Where are you taking her? Mari!”

The geisha stared at Yumi with blank, panic-stricken eyes as she was ushered through a small doorway and disappeared from view.

“Yumi-san, please calm down. Mari-san will be fine. I wouldn’t hurt her without reason. She was nice to me. Yumi-san. Calm down….Please?” Soujirou said placatingly, more embarrassed than offended by the scene she was causing. The black-clad guards looked to the boy with awkward, questioning faces, unsure as to how much force they should employ in restraining their frenzied captive.

“Yumi-san, if you don’t calm down, the food will become cold!”

What?

“What in the world are you talking about?” she asked, staring at the boy. He said the most absurd things….

“Shishio-sama has invited you to dinner. If you don’t calm down, you’ll be late. And the food will be cold.”

She blinked. “Who the hell cares?” she asked, all pretense at oiran-civility dropped.

He seemed mildly startled by her response. “I do.”

She stared at him, at his earnest face. She shook her head. Unbelievable, his sincerity.

“And you really should watch the language,” Soujirou continued. “You don’t swear in front of other children, do you?”

“Other children don’t behead people.”

A lift of the eyebrows. “Hai, hai, you’re right of course. But it would please me if you’d refrain from swearing in Shishio-sama’s presence,” the boy said, his voice taking on a slightly more serious edge though the smile was wide as ever.

A fleeting image of the gate guard’s head sailing through the air as it landed near her feet. Yumi blinked. Looked at the boy again. Surely, she was going mad from the strains of the day.

“You understand, I’m a little…upset,” she said, surprised that her voice at least was steady, if her mental state was not. “It’s been a rather difficult day.”

It wasn’t exactly an apology or a promise she offered the boy. She didn’t think she was quite capable of civility at the moment. Yumi didn’t know what possessed her to speak in such a brusque manner.

She had been trained since childhood to clamp down on her emotions, to keep her face serene and her voice light no matter what she was feeling in her heart. She could make polite conversation in her sleep, could whisper sweet, soothing words to the most boorish of men. So why was her tongue so venomous now? Why, when this, of all times, was the time to keep quiet, to nod demurely and remain as passive as possible. To please her captors and survive.

She was in a presence of a cheerful killer. She was about to have dinner with a red-eyed demon. And now, of all times. Now, her mind did this to her? Failed at all the secrets to charm that she possessed, failed to remain detached and objective. Now. Of all times, her own wits flew south and betrayed her. And made her unable to resist foolishly—suicidally—sassing back at her captors.

She closed eyes in horror. She and Mari would most likely die tonight. And it would be her fault because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. What in the world was wrong with her? Was this what it meant to lose one’s sanity? Did she break sometime during her capture without realizing it? She’d never been subjected to this kind of situation before, had never experienced such intense emotional upheaval, such abject terror. So she’d never known what her true reaction would be in the face of danger. Now she knew. And her own crazed, unpredictable actions terrified her.

Yumi swallowed nervously and followed the young boy as he led her to the captain’s cabin. It was too dark in the room in contrast to the brilliant sunset display outside. Her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted, and she sensed, rather than saw Soujirou brushing lightly past her as he left the room with a quiet, “Please enjoy the evening, Yumi-san.”

Her vision adjusted. And she realized she wasn’t alone. The bandaged man, the demon, sat silently at the end of a large Western-styled dining room table, waiting.

“Have a seat.” The voice was low, but pitched to carry across the room. It was a voice to be obeyed.

Yumi complied as a server pulled out a chair for her. Her vision finally adjusted completely to the dim lighting of the room, and the demon’s features finally came into full view.

So this was Lord Shishio. Bandages, from head to toe, exactly as Jubei had described. And the eyes truly were red, a deep smoldering crimson which bore into her with an innate intensity, chilling her more than the river wind did, and making her skin crawl. He leaned casually against one armrest, his relaxed demeanor making his gaze all the more unsettling. As if it was effortless for him to reduce a person to a state of unease.

The server re-appeared, holding a large silver bowl filled with water and a white cloth which he offered to Yumi.

“Wipe it off,” said the demon.

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

“The make-up,” he said, indicating her face with a casual wave of his hand. “I want to see who I’m dining with.”

“So do I,” she said as she finally found her voice again. “If I do so, will you take off your bandages?”

The server nearly dropped the bowl as he made a small choking noise. Shishio’s eyes flicked briefly in his direction in mild annoyance, and the server froze, seemingly too terrified to breathe.

The demon looked back at her, a small humorless smile on his lips. “Men have died for asking less.”

As an oiran, Yumi was well versed in gauging people’s reactions, but the bandages covering this man’s face and his deadpan lack of facial expression made it difficult even for her experienced eye. Still, instinct had led her to believe that this man would prefer a show of strength rather than a meek display of passivity. She’d taken a terrible chance, asking him to remove his bandages. But she was fortunate enough, she believed, to have read him correctly.

She felt a bit of her normal confidence return then. Just a shade of it, but enough to still her trembling hands and allow her to face the enemy on more familiar ground. Swords and blood could reduce her to a quivering, shaking mess. But fencing with words was something she had at least a chance at.

“I’m dead anyway, aren’t I? What have I to lose?” she said softly. “Or are you afraid to show me?”

The room was very still, and for a moment, Yumi was afraid she’d read the man incorrectly after all.

But Shishio laughed then, in genuine grim amusement, and the server who stood behind Yumi let a breath out in obviously relief.

“So. This is the famed charm of Komagata Yumi,” said the crimson-eyed man wryly.

“Iya, my charm is only for my friends and honored guests.”

“Good,” he replied smoothly, taking no affront. “I’ve no time for a woman’s charms.”

He leaned back in his chair watching her as she dipped the cloth in the water and quickly removed her make-up. When she finished, the server left the two of them alone, and Yumi forced herself to look full into the face of the man. She thought she saw the barest glint of approval in those eerie eyes, though she could not be sure.

“You were an unexpected find. A stroke of luck, Soujirou says.” The stranger eyed her coolly. “Do you know why you’re here?”

No,” she said quietly. “But it has something to do with Takei-san, doesn’t it?”

“He has something of value that I want,” was the man’s reply.

“And I’m to help you get it?”

Shishio smiled coldly. “I will get it with or without your help.”

“What do you want from me?” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

“Information,” he answered. “About Takei. About his retainers and his household. Information on how his businesses are run, all of them. Including the illegitimate ones he tries so desperately to conceal. Names. Dates. Times. Meeting places.”

Her eyes had widened at his knowledge of Takei-san’s illegal activities. She wondered desperately how he knew of such things.

“I can’t tell you that,” she whispered.

“Can’t?” He leaned forward, looking at her intently. “Or won’t?”

She couldn’t answer that question. But then, her lack of response was in itself, a sort of answer.

“What would you do with such information?” she asked.

“Why, rule the Empire,” he answered, a hard glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Shake the World.”

She looked more closely at the man and realized he wasn’t joking. He had the cool assurance of one who had absolutely no doubts of his own abilities, the calm confidence of one who was extremely strong. Or extremely insane. She highly suspected the latter.

“Would I be too bold in assuming you’d take over the Empire by peaceful means?”

A slight quirk of his mouth. “You would.”

“Assuming you could pull off such a thing,” she said carefully. “Another war now, so soon after the last… It would destroy the Meiji government.”

“What do you care about this government? To them, you’re nothing more than cattle.”

The Mary Ruth case, he was referring to. Yumi winced. That hurt.

“Nevertheless,” she swallowed and continued. “I can’t help you.”

“Your loyalty to Takei is admirable, but misplaced.” He said, and then was silent and merely looked at her with that imperturbable calm.

She studied her hands, thinking of his words, avoiding his gaze as the moments stretched into uncomfortable minutes. Still with no word from the man. He merely sat and watched her. She had the feeling he enjoyed seeing her so discomfited, and she was determined not to let her uneasiness show through.

But gods, she couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“You can’t be serious! You can’t be! Mad, power-hungry men like you plot such things all the time, and yet they rarely act on their words. I know because I’ve heard it all before! I’ve seen it over and over again in the clients I serve. They talk and talk, and nothing ever gets done!”

“You have seen it. So you’d know, then, that I am different. Things will get done.”

“What makes you think you would succeed where others have failed? And why in the world would you want to succeed? You would destroy this country with such violence!” she cried.

“I love this country,” he hissed, his voice deadly and soft. “It has such glorious potential, this nation of ours, and yet it rots under the rule of spineless fools, weakening day by day, a mere shadow of its former glory. Just like the Emperor himself, a feeble man, whose ancestors’ warrior blood has thinned beyond usefulness in his pathetic, frail veins.”

“And you think another war will make us strong? You think bloodshed—“

“Bloodshed occurs whether we’re at war or not. In times of peace, it’s merely hidden. But it’s always there, in the seedy, dark corners where good little citizens are afraid to look.”

He narrowed his eyes and continued.

“Japan needs an infusion of fresh blood. Of strong blood.” He smiled wryly. “And it needs a good kick in the ass. Which is what I plan on giving it. It needs a strong leader, one who isn’t afraid to take responsibility and exercise control. Katsura Kogoro and a scant few of the others had the will and the vision. And the nerve to see things through. But Katsura isn’t strong enough. He has one unforgivable flaw: His leniency, his weakness for the well-being of ordinary people. Something for which I cannot forgive. I will not make the same mistake.”

“That’s a very cold view of the world, you have,” she said softly.

He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again. Softly. “The Bakumatsu taught me many things. It taught me to be more careful, to survive. It taught me that people cannot be trusted. It taught me that people are weak and don’t even know what they truly want in their hearts. And it taught me that the strong will survive, while the weak must serve them in doing so. It’s a rule of nature.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’m in a charitable mood tonight, Komagata Yumi,” said Shishio. “I will allow you to rejoin your friend.”

The server came back into the room and waited next to her, ready to escort her out. She noticed belatedly that neither of them had touched their food.

“If you’re strong you live. If you’re weak, you die,” said Shishio. “Something your Shinsengumi friend understands, if you do not.”

She gasped, wondering how he knew of Jubei’s past. Her expression must have been obvious, for Shishio smirked.

“It’s stamped all over his fighting style. Don’t be fooled by his soft appearance, Komagata Yumi. That gentle friend of yours… has the ki of a wolf.”

“Jubei is not a wolf.”

Shishio merely smiled. "Get some rest. We will speak again."

With that, he lifted a finger casually signaling the end of their meeting. The server tugged lightly at her arm, and Yumi allowed herself to be led from the dining room. She didn’t turn around to look at her captor, but she could feel his eyes on her back as she was finally led out of the room.

Soujirou joined his master at the railing, enjoying the breeze of the river, the view of the starry night sky.

“Keeping the lady,” he said thoughtfully, “Would require you to change your plans. Isn’t that an inconvenience, Shishio-sama?”

Shishio stared silently off into the distance. “It merely changes the rules of the game,” he murmured.

Soujirou didn’t understand what Shishio-sama was talking about. But then, that wasn’t a rare occurrence. He had learned in the course of the last couple of years to be patient whenever he didn’t understand, to watch events unfold and make themselves clear to him rather than asking Lord Shishio prematurely. So he kept his mouth shut and sighed softly.

“She's nice, isn’t she?” he asked his master. “They both are.”

His master ignored him, as usual.

“Thank you for sending your men after me,” Soujirou added, more as an afterthought than anything else. “They were quite helpful.”

Shishio did not bother looking at him. “I’d expected you to be a liability. Until your training took effect. One of my less sound investments. Your fighting is still sloppy, I hear.”

Soujirou didn’t quite know how to respond to that. But he accepted the criticism calmly as ever, and turned to leave since his master seemed to want to be alone.

“Soujirou.”

He turned. “Hai?”

“You proved yourself useful today,” he said, his back still turned to the boy.

“Hai, Shishio-sama.”

Soujirou beamed in delight.