Recherche: Gather Round

 

Recherché Chapter Five

 

Miles from a bustling town plaza and worlds apart from the malodorous constable’s den, this scenic shortcut was everything Genma promised.  Shielded by a canopy of dragon’s blood red maple trees, dappled sunlight played leapfrog at their feet over the hardened red clay path leading to the temple.  Creeping groundcover swayed under the weight of pollen laden bees.  The steeper the incline, the headier the perfume of shrubbery blooming out of their seasons – jasmine, heliotrope, sweet alyssum and loquat trees.  A pity . . . for this place, a balm for the weary soul and a delight for the senses, was going to waste; the one man best able to appreciate its ambiance, was probably sitting in a meeting with the Governor.  Sandwiched between the multiloquent mortician pointing out the cultural significance of every pebble, plant and paving stone along the way, and the choleric Kotetsu, who’d taken to mumbling humorously creative curse words under his breath, Izumo was hard pressed to keep a smile on his lips and his own temper in check.

And at the rate things were going, the urge to turn back after throttling both of them was becoming harder to resist.

“Mr. Shiranui,” he said, praying his tone wouldn’t give away the irritation he felt, “We appreciate the time you’ve set aside to accompany us to the temple but--”

“Think nothing of it and please, call me Genma,” he huffed, putting more distance between them.  “Had to go to the temple anyway . . . huge wake tonight, huge funeral tomorrow, you know.  Have to . . . finalize arrangements with the priest and monks, make sure the altar’s prepared – things like that.  I’ll bet you gents didn’t know the work of an undertaker was so complex . . . oh, that reminds me, I have to get back to the morgue before noon, so I’m afraid I won’t be accompanying you back to town . . . coffin delivery and a nōkan to perform--.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got it . . . a red-letter day for you,” Kotetsu sniped. “How much longer before we get there?”

About a quarter of a mile I reckon, we’re almost at the crest of the hill. Don’t tell me a strapping young buck can’t keep up with an old man like me?”

Izumo felt his friend bristle beside him and from the corner of his eye, he saw him open his mouth to say something churlish.  Mercifully, Genma was quicker on the draw.

“My apologies, we could’ve made better time on horseback; unfortunately, the only stables nearby belong to the constables and frown on hiring out their mounts to civilians.”

“Not a problem, a brisk walk in the fresh air will do us good,” Izumo assured him.  

“Well let me know if you gents need to stop and catch your breath.  Meanwhile, if you look to your left, that stone lantern over there was a gift from the Land of Earth I think.”

As their nescient cicerone moved up the path, Izumo nudged his friend in the ribs drawing his attention to a brace of colorful waterfowl zigzagging their way through the bulrushes and sword ferns near shallow ponds.  Soon, they formed a cluster of shiny orange and black beaks and flapping feathers as they waddled closer to the winding footpath.

It took a few minutes before Genma realized they weren’t walking behind him, and when he turned about he chuckled saying, “Don’t mind them.  Those little buggers are used to getting handouts from the pilgrims along this path.  Once they realize you have no bread fragments or sweet corn kernels to give them, they’ll quiet down and leave us alone.  Now, let me direct your attention to …”

“Humpf … “Kotetsu whispered, “wonder what it will take to make him quiet down and leave us alone?"

A shared, guilty snicker rippled between the two young men.  “’Cut it out Tetsu, we’re being rude to our host.”

“Like he cares, Zumo.  We’ve hardly gotten a word in edgewise since we left the constable’s office, you think he’s paying attention to us now?  I say we ditch him."

“I think that unwise.” Holding up his hands to forestall interruption he added, “Consider this, we showed up on law enforcement’s doorstep the very morning a high-profile murder victim was discovered and didn’t exactly keep it secret that we have information about the killer terrorizing these people.  I’m sure that didn’t sit well with Inspector Morino--”

“And that’s why I hate involving the police Zumo.”  Shoving his hands deeper into his pockets, lukewarm hostility tinged his voice when he said, “We always end up being scrutinized and spied on.  Why can’t they see we’re trying to help them?”

“How well did we understand upon first hearing such things?”

Slowly, the look of exasperation slid off Kotetsu’s face though his body was still wound tighter than a spool of silk thread.  “Yeah . . . well, Iruka’s father had lost most of his marbles toward the end, and this hoo-hah about gaki and stuff like that did sound ridiculous--”

“Of course it did.”  He threw an arm around his friend's shoulder and pulled him close.  "Try to understand, the people living here are paranoid, practically jumping at their own shadows and the police are walking around in circles, searching for a scapegoat to parade before the people.  If we ‘ditch’ Genma, you can bet he’ll report everything we’ve said and done to the Inspector in excruciating detail; that would make us look even more suspicious to the police.” He stepped back and looked his friend in the eyes, “We already stick out like two sore thumbs around here . . .  well, you more so than me; two rakishly handsome young men, all gussied up in tailored suits surrounded by kimonos, hakama and pushcarts.  For now, it's in our best interests to lay low and follow Iruka’s lead like we promised.”

Watching the fat little ducks come closer as they stood on the stair, Izumo reached into his pocket, pretending to throw a fistful of nothing toward them.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Just watch.” The knot of ducks instantly scattered when Izumo's arm dropped to his side; each of them scrambling for a morsel of the imaginary treats.   They all gave up at the same time; once reassembled they quacked louder as they boldly drew close to the two men.

“See that?  To you and me, that loudmouth mortician’s a nuisance,” Izumo said, “but Genma’s like these ducks; fat, happy and stuffed full of confidential information. He’ll quack louder and struggle to keep us close on the off chance of getting a ‘treat’ like learning of our plans before the time is right. All we have to do is throw bits of general information his way."  The twinkle in Kotetsu's eyes let him know that he understood.  “If we keep his little brain occupied, he might give us something we can use.”

“’Zumo this is going to take forever--”

“I don't think so, he’s a blabbermouth. In the meantime, settle down and stay focused. We promised Iruka we'd move at his pace, and we’re going to stick to the plan,” he said, as he further invaded Kotetsu’s space.   “We mobilize on Iruka’s say so, not a moment sooner.  We clear?”

“I’m not stupid! I’m just saying, I can’t believe Iruka ran off and left us with this insufferable gasbag!”

“Shush, he’ll hear you!”

“Please ‘Zumo, the man loves the sound of his own voice too much, he still hasn’t realized we’re not walking behind him anymore.  What a jackass!”

Another intentional and very sharp poke to the ribs doubled Kotetsu over this time, sending the ducks squawking and flapping when he stumbled off the path.

“Oi,” Genma turned and said.  “You alright back there Kotetsu?”

“Yes, he’s well,” Izumo volunteered.  “I assure you, he usually isn’t this clumsy.”

An extended hand was pushed away by the angry out of breath Kotetsu who glared daggers at his friend.

“Of course, that’s right, I’d almost forgotten about your long time at sea. You two probably didn’t get much sleep last night either, considering the last passenger ship didn’t disembark until well after midnight.  You were on that ship, right?”

“Guess the long journey has finally caught up with us.  Not to worry Genma, he’ll be fine, won’t you Kotetsu?”

 Notes:

Multiloquent: speaking much, very talkative; loquacious.

Choleric:  extremely irritable or easily angered.

Nescient: unknowing.

Cicerone:  tour guide; leader of a sightseeing tour.

Nōkan: a funeral ritual; the body is washed and the orifices blocked with cotton or gauze.  The mortician wraps the body, and dresses it; in Hitomi’s case, she’ll be clothed in a white kimono.  The body is then placed on dry ice inside the coffin and certain items like a pair of sandals, another white kimono and six coins for crossing the River of Three Crossings are placed in the coffin as well.  The body is normally arranged with its head toward the north, or as a secondary choice, toward the west.  In Buddhism, the western orientation reflects the western realm of Amida Buddha.

 

Recherche: Wheels in Motion

 

Recherché Chapter Six

“When was the last time we shared a quiet breakfast Ibiki?”  

“Never,” he said without thinking.  “And since I know you didn’t ask me to come here so you could watch me chew … let’s have it.”

“You have to promise to hear me out,” she said laying aside her chopsticks. “No back answers, alright?”  

“Fine.”

Tsunade leaned back in her seat, her arms draped over the plump bolsters.  “After the third murder, I took a meeting with some of our elderly residents … calm their fears, that sort of thing.”  

“Yes ...and?”

“The way they told it, about seventy years ago, Fire Country was demonized by a killer exhibiting the same characteristics as the one we’re looking for now.  The victims, young women under the age of twenty-five, their bodies drained of blood, abandoned out in the open and no clues left behind. This pattern continued with the rise of every full moon for about a year, and then suddenly it stopped.”

“I don’t remember reading accounts of anything like that--”

“You wouldn’t have; the Great Tsunami of 1771 destroyed most of the town and it’s records.  Back then, most people lived in the countryside and those who inhabited the town proper were transients, here to learn a trade … it was a horrendous loss. What’s known of that time came from the retelling of tales from those who survived.”

Ibiki pushed away his plate, his eyes riveted to hers.   “Would you have me believe we’re dealing with a copycat killer or are you suggesting our murderer is some decrepit old man?”

“Don’t be ridiculous … oh, you’ve finished already? I’ll take that last onigiri if you don’t mind.”

He watched her eyes light up when she plunked a large triangular chunk of rice from the communal plate onto hers. “Lady Tsunade, it’s a waste of time getting riled up over the ravings of the senile or otherwise mentally deficient--”

“That’s what I thought too, at first.” Giving the onigiri captured between her chopsticks a delicate sniff, she popped it into her mouth and immediately, the tiny space between her eyebrows wrinkled with disgust.  Frantically seeking a discreet way to dispose of the offending food, she inelegantly spat it into a napkin of ivory linen.  “Umeboshi,” she spluttered reaching for a glass of water.   “Yes, well … after that meeting, I tried not to think about what they told me." As she was speaking, her left hand slowly moved upward, her fingers absentmindedly caressing the Manju-netsuke that hung from an exquisite jade necklace.  “However, after the fourth murder I felt compelled to do my own research.  You know, I remember when my grandfather used to tell me stories of bizarre happenings in this land; used to think they were fanciful retellings of folklore to frighten impressionable children.”

Ibiki heard those same stories as he sat on his grandmother’s lap.  They were tales of imps and hobgoblins that played tricks on unsuspecting humans, these angry spirits often destroyed crops or made away with livestock.   “Retribution for those who dared defile this land by building factories on sacred ground,” his grandmother used to say.  “All we need do is increase the number of patrols during the full moon, Lady Tsunade.  I know we can apprehend this fiend--”

“If our killer were a deranged human, then yes, I believe you would have apprehended him before now.”  Still stroking at the pendant, her eyes took on a hazy appearance.  “I found several scrolls chronicling life during my great great grandfather’s time ... they all bore witness to the truth of the elder’s stories.” When she spoke again, her voice sounded as if she were far away.  “By the light of a full moon, Senju Hisao and a group of men were hunting in the forest when they happened upon a ‘creature’ in the clearing.  This being and seven other ghostly apparitions were engaged in a ritual sacrifice or so it seemed to them.” She bowed her head suddenly, as if whispering a prayer; her hand covered her mouth as if holding back a curse.

He’d never seen her like this before; pale and trembling as if her words had the power to make manifest these beings of antiquity.

“Before they could get closer to the scene, a pack of wolves appeared out of the mist and chased them from the forest. Those wolves,” she whispered, “were taller and broader than full grown men.” Finally breaking free of discomposure, she added, “Strange days are these Ibiki.  Konoha stands at a crossroads.  Though we strive for modernity, we’re chained to the past by something older than the land itself.”  Her palms crashed against the table suddenly, catching Ibiki off guard. “We have to take extraordinary measures to purge the land of this evil.”

“So, are you suggesting we have the priest and monks ‘exorcise’ the territory?”

“Not exactly.  I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve sent for an expert ... a 'demon hunter' if you will; practically begged him to come help us..”

The palm of his hand met his forehead with a resounding smack. “Why would you do that, ma’am? Have you no confidence in me or my constables?”

“Ibiki, I trust you implicitly--”

“Poppycock!  If you trusted me at all you wouldn’t have--”

“Mind your tone, Inspector, besides … I can’t undo what’s been done. Dr. Umino Tadashi will be arriving in Konoha any day now and I want you to be present when I meet with him. You’ll need to keep an open mind--”

“Umino, you say?  He’s dead Lady Tsunade.”

She lurched forward in the chair, “What?  Who told you that?”

“He did, well … I mean, his son did.  Such an odd surname around these parts ... I had to assume they’re related--”

“Son?”

“Yes, ma’am.   Umino Iruka was one of the three young men I met with this morning; said his father died in May of this year.”

“Hmm... I received Tadashi’s response to my letter in April.  Of all the rotten luck,” she said, sinking back into her seat with a sigh, “here I was, pinning my hopes on his advice and guidance--”

“As I’ve said, we don’t need a ‘demon hunter--”

“Well if he’s dead now . . . that’s a problem.” Once again, her fingers found and rubbed at the netsuke.

“How do you know of these people ma’am?”

“Don’t you remember?  Hmm … maybe not, you might have been in the military, no ... you were too young back then.  Dr. Umino worked at our hospital for years; his wife was a clerk in the old Admin center.”

“Based on what I heard, Lady Tsunade, I just assumed they were Water Country folk.”

“A small family, the Umino’s ...two of the brothers married into the Shimizu clan; Tadashi and his brother studied medicine in Water Country and moved here for advanced training … both their sons were born in Konoha.”

No wonder I couldn’t pinpoint that dialect, he thought.  It was a mishmash of language from Water and Fire countries.

“In those days, Japanese medical students flocked to England to learn new techniques, unfortunately, they didn’t have enough translators for their textbooks or teachers for the classroom, so Koichi the elder brother, accepted a position in London, or was it Cornwall?  I can’t remember now,” she said.  “Anyway, Tadashi and his family went to live with Koichi a few years later.   My aunt and Tadashi’s wife Amaya, were good friends ... maintained correspondence for years.”  

And that explains why his accent was so strong; he received the bulk of his education abroad.

“Last time I saw Iruka, he was about five or six years old.  Cute little boy, very mannerable ... chubby cheeks, a big smile and painfully shy,” she wistfully said.  “Shame he couldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps as a doctor; didn’t have an interest in biology nor the stomach for the blood and guts of anatomical dissection, I’m told.  At some point, Tadashi developed a close friendship with a man named Yamada Kenichi, a teacher of philosophy and a student of ancient religions and the supernatural.  He was also something of a detective, an authority on things that go bump in the night.”

Ibiki rolled his eyes and huffed, “Lady Tsunade, I fail to see how any of this information pertains to our current situation.”

“Part of my research led me to a box filled with my aunt’s old letters, that’s what prompted me to contact Tadashi in the first place.”

Shifting about in his seat, Ibiki tried to keep his expression bland, and his eyes open; the combination of a big breakfast and the Governor’s historical ruminations were easing him into a cozy kef.

“After Mr. Yamada died, Tadashi took up his research and became obsessed with it; some, including his wife, said he’d gone quite mad. He spent the last fifteen years of her life tracking down a ruthless killer like the one roaming about Konoha now.”

Ibiki straightened in his seat at that.  How could the same murderer be in two places, an ocean apart at the same time?

“The last letter I found informed my aunt of his wife’s passing; I have to assume Iruka wrote it.”  

“I hope you’ll pardon me but, this talk of ghosts, monsters or whatever the hell they are, is something I can’t stomach.”

“What? Mr. ‘I’ve seen everything and nothing rattles me,’ is jelly-legged about the supernatural? That’s rich.” Toying with the lump of rice hidden inside her napkin, she said, “I understand something like this is hard for a logical mind like yours to take in and process, but I have a feeling Iruka and the book he has will be quite informative.   If nothing else, we can get a good laugh from it.   Now, what I need you to do is find out where he’s staying... we’ll set up a meeting and talk things over--”

“There’s nothing to discuss, ma’am.  Be it known right now, I want nothing to do with this foolishness!”

Suddenly, her face flushed and her eyes angrily narrowed when she stood. “It doesn’t matter what you want or what you’re comfortable with.  We’ve eight murders and no suspect in custody; face it, traditional methods of investigation have failed us.  You will do as I’ve asked Ibiki and that ends our discussion.” Stiffly nodding her head toward him, she added: “Good day, Inspector.”

Rising deliberately, he curtly bowed, his eyes icily locked on hers. “Thank you for breakfast . . . ma’am,” he said, before turning on his heel.

Once outside the complex, he retrieved his cigar and bit down hard on its tip.

Has everyone except me, lost their damn mind?  

Demon hunters . . .  exorcists . . . the writings of two crazy old men taking precedence over reason and sound police work!

What the hell’s this world coming to?

When he strode toward his office, the people parted before him again, this time in fear; he looked as if he’d snap the neck of the next person who dared speak or even look his way.  Veering toward the stables behind the constabulary, angry, confused and stung by what he perceived as betrayal, he snapped in the direction of the hapless stable master who’d come to greet him.

“Saddle up my mount,” he said gruffly, flinging a chit toward the man.  “I want him outside the front door of the constabulary and ready to go in five minutes. Got it?”

Thankfully, the squad room was somewhat empty, save for a few patrols handing in their reports; they had the good sense to lower their voices and step away from him as he approached the watch commander’s desk.

“Ryota,” he said, snatching up the matchbox.  “Where were those bones found this morning?”

Guess I don’t need to ask how his meeting with the Governor went.   A side drawer squeaked open and before Ibiki could draw in the first puff of a fresh cigar, Ryota was spreading a map of the town across his desk. “Here,” he said pointing to an area of the forest west of the lumber mill.  “The bones were collected and delivered to Genma’s office about ten minutes ago.”

“Those three young men … find out where they’re staying; Governor wants to meet with them as soon as possible,” he ground out.

“Shouldn’t be difficult, the inns are empty since the Tsukimi Festival was a bust. I’ll get that information to Miss Shizune personally,” he said refolding the map.

When next he looked up, Ibiki was gone; the sound of horseshoes clattering over cobblestones in the town square, was all he could hear.  

Recherché

After a brief meeting with the Governor’s assistant, Iruka returned to the inn.  Bolting the door, he covered the room in less than ten paces.   Retrieving the valise from underneath the bed, he knelt in silence letting the disappointment subside as the familiar aroma of pipe tobacco rose from deep inside the case. He found himself rubbing his hand across the smooth cool leather, fortifying the connection to his father’s spirit.

When he was able, he plopped down on the bed, separating the upper compartment of the valise from its lower half, revealing a small cache of weapons.  Knives and ancient talismans lay beside vials of water and holy oils blessed by the priests in England; they believed as he did, that demons walked among the living and they’d offered prayers on his behalf.  Next to them were notebooks written in his father’s cramped handwriting; the old man’s eyes, dimmed by sickness and his mind, inflamed with fever when he penned these notes. At the center of the valise was a scroll bound with leather straps – it contained Umino Tadashi’s final instructions and precautions for using the weaponry and the other tools of the trade.

By now was his vision distorted by tears which refused to fall; his hands trembling with rage as he unsheathed one of the knives.

“Father, I swore to avenge you and today, I reaffirm that promise.  As I come one step closer to fulfilling my purpose in this life, may your spirit guide me.”

His left hand swept over the talismans.  “I vowed on your grave to carve out his heart … a tribute to you for the suffering experienced at his hands.”

The weight of the blade, unfamiliar yet comforting in his right hand; this was the very knife his father used when he struck down two members of the same family line Iruka now determined to bring to its end.

“Across foreign soil and one continent, I’ve tracked him down.  As you predicted, he’s returned to the land of his origin.  Here in Konoha will he take a bride and spawn a legion of demons more powerful than he ... but I’ll not allow that Father.”

At this point, his breathing was labored and he feared the same madness which brought his father to ruin, was staking its claim on him as well. His tight grip on the knife’s blade dug into his palm, the pain serving to strengthen his determination.  

“Father, grant me wisdom and cunning, for the life of your only son depends on it.”

A twist of the wrist and his reflection in the shining blade stunned him; his eyes were wide and wild as he brought the cutting edge to his lips. The kiss of cold steel and a trickle of warm blood filled his mouth as he spoke these words against the two-edged blade:

“I will not fail you Father, for this is my vow.”

NOTES:

Manju-netsuke:  Netsuke, miniature sculptures invented in 17^th century Japan to serve a practical purpose; it was a carved button-like toggle used to prevent the contents of a pouch from spilling out.  A Manju-netsuke was thick and flat, with the carvings usually done in relief; they were sometimes composed of two ivory halves.  

Tadashi:   correct, loyal, righteous.

Kenichi: strong, healthy, first son.

Yamada:  mountain rice field.

Kef: a state of drowsy contentment.

April 12, 1771, the Great Yaeyama Tsunami was triggered by an earthquake.

Koichi: “light/shining first child.”

Amaya: “night rain.”

Recherche: What If?

 

Recherché Chapter Seven

Jarred from a trance like state by the noise of metal striking against stone, Iruka shot up, scanning the room for intruders; his hand frantically skidding across the mattress top as he caught his breath.  

Damn!  They've found me out already?

The envelope and valise … where are they?

Bits and bobs of free-floating memories jumble together as the twilled cotton under his fingers gave way to the smooth surface of heavyweight paper.  His heart jumped in his chest - of course, he remembered now - meticulously returning the weapons to their places and tucking the valise under the bed before propping his head against sinfully soft pillows and stretching out.  

My imagination is getting the better of me, even so, why the devil is there a handkerchief tied around my … oh, right … Father's knife.

Leaning back against the headboard he comforted himself with the thought that this injury was another minor annoyance, a slight twist on the winding path he’d chosen.

Father used to say, ‘if ever a man desires to make the gods laugh, all he need do is strictly adhere to the plans his limited mind conceives’. Still, the hours behind me hadn’t been a complete waste.  The meeting with the Chief Inspector went exactly as expected; quiet opposition, sprinkled with skeptical looks and a curt rebuff culminating in a terse dismissal.   Their planned survey of the cemetery deferred out of respect; even if preparations weren’t underway for a burial, a curious sexton would surely take notice of three strangers wandering about the graveyard.   And then of course, there was the intrusion of a fast talking, overly accommodating Coroner.  He rolled his eyes as an image of Genma surfaced in his mind. Definitely a fly in the ointment.

But the gods did humor him, sending an angel in the form of a sympathetic clerk at the Administrative building.  Masuyo, the cheerful, rotund woman left her station at the reception desk and led him into the private office of the Governor’s assistant - there she interceded on his behalf, vouching for the authenticity of the letter he’d presented as proof of and the reason for his visit.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his forearms at rest atop his thighs.  “The Chief Inspector is a hard nut to crack, unlikely to give up any information, but I’m counting on Izumo’s charm.   I trust he’ll make inroads with one of the higher ups in the constabulary; that way we can stay abreast of their investigation and keep them from interfering with our prime objective. Now,” he sighed as he stood, “what to do about Kotetsu?  Lord love him, he’s quicker with his fists than his wits.”  He wandered over to the open window, peering through lace curtains at the forests just west of the inn.  “Yes, that will do nicely.  We need a proper base of operations anyway … somewhere far from the town center.  I’ll have him secure a small hunting lodge; he’ll be in his element and we can come and go without attracting undue attention.  Perfect.”

His hand was throbbing like mad when he flopped down on the edge of the mattress.  As for me, he thought pushing at the makeshift compress, since the Governor requested my father’s assistance, it shouldn’t be hard to make her understand the reasons behind these murders and why I’m the only one who can stop them.  Speaking of stopping things, better attend to this first.  

He tried not to gag while carefully unwrapping his hand.  Bright red blood slowly pooled in the creases of his palm every time he flexed his fingers.  Damn, that’s deep.  Shaking his head as he sucked in a breath, he had to laugh at himself.  “Imagine that.  The one person in our group made woozy at the sight of blood is the same one determined to reach inside a chest and remove a heart.”    Pocketing the cloth, he staggered to the bathroom.  But before I can do any of that, I’ll have to destroy his resting place and that means finding a way inside his lair.  What am I saying? That part will be easy enough.

The cold water splashing over his hand slowed the bleeding and he bit back a groan when the powdered alum burned into his lacerated flesh.  “Not sure how things work here,” he said with a wince, “but the law in England required architects to register copies of their blueprints with the offices of land management. Assuming the old estate still stands, the information I need is over a hundred years old  and won't be available in the Administrative offices… probably housed in an archive somewhere.”

Searing pain made him squeeze shut his eyes and when he opened them, the first thing he saw was the floor.      Wood … that’s it!  They’ll have information about every domicile in the territory close to hand. And I’m willing to bet they’ll be less likely to question the validity of an official looking document!   

Running from the bathroom, he reached for his jacket on the side nearest the bed; tucking the envelope in an inner pocket, he cast a final glance about the room.  All right then, all I need do now is figure out where the fire brigade is, he thought as he slipped on his shoes in the hallway.   Maybe I can find a map at the front desk.  

Recherché

Against the backdrop of variegated greens and stationary taupes, how wondrous was the synchronization of their rapid breaths - Ibiki’s tawny flesh, swathed in dark blue, his partner beneath him, ebony, formidable and sinewy.  Supple cowhide slid through his fingers, wrapped about an experienced hand, it slapped against his wrists each time the one between his legs rocketed forward.   Sitting astride a partner so powerful, responsive to his mood and eager to please, how good it felt to have control freely restored. Shards of exasperation pierce through the leather beneath him, translating into stentorian hoof beats against  flagstone streets.

How sweet the adrenaline singing in his veins as they bolted from the plaza – how satisfying it was, catching glimpses of respect in the eyes of the people and hearing their collective gasps as he and his mount zipped through the marketplace.  Over hard packed red clay, clods of earth erupt in dusty explosions as they breeze past tracts of tidy wooden bungalows; divots of soft grasses flew up in their wake as they gamboled through parkland adorned with aesthetically pleasing flowerbeds and lined with trees. 

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, a chunk of his harbored anger broke free from its moorings - but the sting of the Governor’s words, the pain inflicted by her lack of confidence still clung to and twisted around his emotions.   The winds, wildly whipping past his ears taunted him, whispering the same question over and over:

What if Lady Tsunade was right?

Ever onward he rode, refusing to entertain such notions, fleeing like an escaped felon to the only place in the territory where succorance lay.   The bosom of the forest, his sanctuary, his island of objectivity, far removed from the maddening cries of civility.  There, in the dense woods, every major decision of his life was made; here he’d be endowed with strength and anointed with the fresh oil of perseverance. Today, he’d walk into the vast weald, not knowing whether he’d walk away from his post in infamy or if he’d stumble across inspiration amidst the majesty and serenity of the timberlands.

Recherché

 How softly fell the filtered light through overhead windows, splattering across tense shoulders as Tsunade hunched over her desk.  How gently it warmed delicate fingers splayed over papers filled with row upon row of blurred lines of text.  The need to stay busy occupied a mind and heart brimming with regret; it was at once urgent and impossible; twinges of compunction which began the second her office door clicked behind him, transmogrified into a burning lump looking for a means to escape the pit of her stomach.  With a shake of her head, she chided herself to stay focused on the matter at hand -- this new revision of the trade agreement had to be reviewed and passed along to the Advisory Council members by close of business today.  But as they’d done before, the static rows of black lettered legalese tap danced across their off-white parchment platform, melting together and spiraling downward into a blob of grandiose nothingness.

The image of Ibiki’s face ghosted over the papers under her hand; she saw the corner of his lip twitching as her words, like a scorpion’s tail, lashed out and stung him.  That disillusioned look in his unblinking eyes, rimmed with sadness as her words became daggers plunged into his soul, mortally wounding him.  And then there was the bitter refrain incessantly screeching through her brain:

What if Ibiki was right?

Pushing the molehill of papers out of sight, her pince-nez silently retracted to its rightful place when her elbows crashed against the desk’s surface; shaky hands swept over and kept covered tired eyes that no longer wish to see.

“I’ve lost his allegiance,” she breathed.  “Alienated the only man in Konoha I could and did rely on lo these many years.  What possessed me to shove away the one man who understands how weighty is the obligation and how vehement the opposition that comes with protecting the public?”

Delicate, jasmine scented heels of her hands ground against her eyes . . . acupressure to stave off a blossoming headache, that’s what she told herself as this was no time for frustrated tears.  I could’ve walked across the street, looked him in the eye and talked this thing over with him.   But no, I chose to reach across an ocean, to beg assistance from a relative stranger, a man considered lunatic by his peers.  What the hell was I thinking?

Nearing the end of a swiftly unraveling emotional tether, she flung herself against the chair’s back, unsure whether to scream, cry or break something; the sudden movement sent the small notebook in her lap tumbling to the floor with a thump. Eyeing it with a measure of disdain, she leaned down and salvaged the artifact penned by a long forgotten ancestor.   Reverently now, she laid it in her lap once more, smoothing down several pages bent after its indecorous plunge.

“I worried myself to sleep each night when trade between Europe and Konoha was but a pipe dream,” she whispered to the little bound tome. “And then, I turned to you, the wisdom of my ancestors and found peace.” A solitary, salty tear skidded down her cheek and splashed against the book.  “I almost pulled my hair out each morning after a full moon these last months, as a madman skulked through the land.  Once more, I turned to you and you supplied me with fables.  What am I supposed to do now?”

From across the room, there came a tiny voice.  “About what ma’am?”

Loose pages flung themselves into the air from the tourbillon created as her palms slammed onto the desk.  “How many times have I warned you about sneaking up on me, Shizune?”

“Milady … I’m sorry,” she said over the noise of the silver serving tray clattering to the ground.  “I knocked . . . twice.  When you didn’t answer, I just walked in, but you were so deep in thought . . .  I figured if I were quiet, I wouldn’t disrupt--”    

“Calm yourself,” she said rising from her seat, the book in her hand and a tight smile on her lips.   “Been cooped up in this office too long today ... the walls are closing in on me … didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Understood,” she said stooping down to clear away the mess. “My fault entirely … I should have waited till you called for me.”

“I’ve got to step out for a breath of fresh air or I’ll go mad.”  Coming alongside her wide-eyed assistant, she patted her on the shoulder.  “Be a dear ... reschedule my afternoon appointments --”

“Already taken care of ma’am. I figured you might need a lay down before tonight, which reminds me … should I put out your clothes now or did you wish me to wait until later?”

“Clothes . . . for what?”

Shizune cocked her head and carefully studied her mistress’ face where irritation was striving for dominance over confusion.  “Hitomi’s tsuya is tonight.  The Hyuga and the Advisory Council members expect you to make an appearance at the Temple.”

Tsunade’s back bumped against the office door and for a moment, it looked as if she’d slide right down to the floor. “How could I have forgotten?  I trust you’ll find something appropriate for the occasion … call my hairdresser too, tell her I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“One more thing before you leave, Lady Tsunade.  A young man came to see you . . . claimed to have very important information for your eyes only.  I couldn’t get him to divulge the nature of--”

“Shizune, I can’t deal with another lawyer right now --” 

“But ma'am, this young man’s a doctor, just arrived from England and--”

“I don’t give a damn if he’s the Daimyo descending from the heavens on a cloud! I’m not in the right frame of mind to discuss anything with anybody,” she barked over her shoulder while fumbling with the doorknob.  “Shoo him out of the building with a smile and a shove.”  Once the door finally swung open, she said, “On second thought, give the little pissant an appointment for next week sometime.”

“Yes, ma’am but --” 

SLAM!

And . . .  she’s gone.  Oh dear, I shouldn’t have pressed her.

Seconds later, fine china slipped from the tray and onto the rug again when the door swung open.

“This young man, Shizune . . . you said he was a doctor . . . from England?”

“Yes ma'am.  A Doctor Imono . . . I think that’s what he said.”

“It wasn’t Umino, was it?”

“Yes,” she said brightly.  “I’m sure that's the name!  He wanted to talk with you while the Inspector was here, but I couldn’t let that happen.   I spoke with him for a few minutes and as I tried to say earlier, he refused to tell me why he needed to see you so urgently.  Rather pushy he was, insisting he’d traveled to Konoha at your behest, even had a letter signed by you to back up his story.   I gave him an appointment for tomorrow afternoon--”

“Tomorrow’s too late!  I need to see him immediately,” she roared as she stooped down to still Shizune’s wrists.  “Where is he now . . . in the waiting area?”

“That was some time ago. . . I doubt he's still out there.  Lady Tsunade, please, you’re hurting me.”

“Sorry … did he happen to mention where he's staying?”

“No, but I have to imagine he's in one of the inns down the street.  What's wrong . . . what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said running back to her desk. A note, hurriedly scratched across the back of a fallen piece of paper was thrust into Shizune’s hands.  “Leave that mess where it is . . . deliver this to Ibiki and tell him to meet me here in an hour, understand?”

 Recherché

Notes: 

Stentorian: very loud or powerful in sound.

Weald: wooded or uncultivated country.

Tourbillon: a whirlwind, or something resembling a whirlwind.

Tsuya (Japanese): a wake, the night before the funeral.

Sexton: a church officer or employee who takes care of the church property and performs minor duties such as ringing the church bell or digging graves.

Recherche: Path to Perdition

 

Recherché Chapter Eight

For the workmen … this was an experience.  

Sure, they’d seen rich folk up close before and they knew the rules; bow politely, never initiate conversation and avoid direct eye contact if addressed.  But this man made forgetting the rules easy.  Tall, dark, powerfully built, he was nothing like the local landowners they were accustomed to.  His carriage regal, and yet his stride, like that of a rouster employed down at the docks.  Most of the monied would pinch their noses as they passed by them, but this man’s smile was so warm and friendly, it was as if he didn’t mind breathing in the same air they did. He was kindly affectioned to them, though it was clear to everyone present, the household servants greatly feared him.

It was a puzzlement.

Ah, but what stories they’d whisper round humble hearths or shout across roughhewn tables inside the taverns tonight

For Maito … this was torture.

These men of simple minds and strong backs, the sweat stained clothing which adhered to their chunky physiques; their easy, unrefined laughter and grunts of exertion ... these awakened in him an appentence forbidden. Commingled musky scents trapped inside the foyer and funneled down the corridor, made him sick to his stomach; bitter reminders were they of what soon would be denied him.   The smile he wore hid the ravening beast within and concealed the panic ripping  at his innards.  He walked among them as a peckish man in a well-stocked market; mightily anhungered, without the means to purchase or the craftiness to steal that which he craved.  But the yearnings of his belly must needs wait, for something more terrifying than cupidity lay ahead.

 For the first time in years … he was afeard.

You see, when summoned to the manor in times past, ere the full moon rose, he’d stride through the maze of underground tunnels leading to the master's chambers; there would he give his report and there would his collar of subjugation clatter to the ground. It was his reward for a job well done.  Acting as the eyes, ears and strong arm of his master, his recompense was more precious than refined gold.

Liberty.

A reprieve from this clunky suit of flesh, freedom to revel and indulge in his nature most primal.  For three wondrous nights each month, he’d choreograph a hellish band of minions through the sacred hunting and mating rituals of his people.  Imbued with a portion of the Master’s authority, he orchestrated the voices of a lupine choir, leading them in songs of worship and praise to the Lord of the Lycanthropes.

Seventy-two hours of surfeit,

feasting on the flesh and the fat, drinking deeply from the fountains of blood spurting from his prey; their terrified screams ringing down in his ears.  With the coming of the dawn, he’d stand majestic - glistening dew, fragments of bone and splatters of blood clinging to his fur, he’d make his bed in the soft moss of a forest cave as the sun rose; his belly full ... his body satisfied.

Alas, it would not be so this time.

Called inside the manor proper, while the sun ruled the heavens, recompense would surely come; punishment - swift and severe, that was his due

for now, was the Master at his vengeful best ... ‘twas true.

For his error, a hue and cry for justice now sounded throughout the town; the citizenry in an uproar, the constables in stymied readiness,

for a mad dog killer they must needs bring down.  

Alas and alack, poor Maito … from his fate was no escape.

  Recherché

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help wondering,

Where did I go wrong?

When his eyes fell upon her as the ship pulled into port weeks earlier, he knew she was the one.  Though scores of people thronged around her, their eyes searching the assembled crowd for a familiar face, their arms raised, waving as they caught sight of friends or family members, his target stood alone.  Enveloped in a bubble of melancholy, her eyes were downcast.  Her manner of dress, simple and proper for a young lady her age; her long flowing ebony hair, free of ostentatious adornment, billowed in the breezes.

These, he assumed were signs she’d left behind any and all familial attachments.

Of course he’d seen the rows of elegant carriages lined up at the port’s entrance – it was impossible to miss them, yet he presumed they waited for someone other than her.    He left the port long before his target disembarked, confident that he’d found a prize for the Master to claim.  In the following days, he hounded her steps, taking careful note of where she lived and the company she kept.

Her residence - the nurses’ dormitory; her daily frocks bespoke her status as they were the standard issue of medics working to receive certification.  She had no close friends to speak of and rarely socialized with her peers outside the hospital.  At ease among the downtrodden, the aged and the ill . . . no hint of haughtiness or high bred mannerisms had she.  Nothing about her life indicated she had a family, especially an influential and politically connected one – one which had an adversarial relationship with the ruling family of the territory as well as their peers.

And now, he thought, what defense have I, the basest of creatures against an omnipotent being?  What words can I draw from a limited human vocabulary to express my regret and buffets me about the head and shoulders with an overwhelming sense of shame?

Standing in a wedge of yellow sunshine stretching under the drawing room doors, Maito leaned forward, breathing in the fused scents springing from the enormous salon. There was a hint of fresh ink from a newly filled pot . . . the fragrance of warm spiced tea and the crisply pungent aroma of pine sap from the logs stacked by the fireplace that would crackle and pop inside the hearth later this evening.  And then …  of course, there was the distinctively masculine and unappetizing scent of that house servant - Kinoe.

That blasted cockalorum, he groused as the inviting light warmed the tips of his shoes.  Like the other puny humans before him, Kinoe was overcome by the Master’s odylic force; spellbound by his mystique and unearthly power.  He lapped up the abuse like a sponge even as he hungered for scraps of the Master’s power.  But unlike those others, this one was shrewd ... possessed of great intellect, with a head for business and a tongue sharpened by deceit and flattery; it was to him their lord turned over control of the estate’s everyday affairs. His latest project - oversight of renovations to the manor, that would serve as their base of operation.  Later, it would become the home where Master and his bride would spend eternity.

Like it did with the others, the morsel of authority granted Kinoe pushed him into fostering a desire and chasing a dream that one day, he alone would stand at the Master’s right hand ... the heel of his boot crushing Maito’s head into the dust.

But Kinoe was an arrogant fool, much like the others before him -

the Master knew his heart.

In exchange for his soul, was he cursed to an eternity of brutal servitude; his sustenance, vermin, arthropods, reptiles and amphibians.

For all his intelligence and savvy, Maito thought, he never understood the bond betwixt myself and the Master; a sacred covenant, a claim against and a seal engraved on my soul which forever secures my position.  But the loss of esteem in the eyes of his lord was too heavy a burden to carry.  Master never forgot a wrong committed and never forgave those who disappointed him.  

The thought of banishment left a taste in his mouth bitter as wormwood and as potent as gall.  

The cold fingers of fear clawed at his mind; snippets life outside the reach of the Master’s beck and call ...

Separated from the one who gave him liberty and life,

a shriveled, tangled mass he’d be inside,

always hungering and never satisfied.  

As he leaned closer to the door, he couldn't sense an iota of his lord’s powerful aura nor was there any trace of the Master’s uniquely enchanting scent inside the room.  A disappointment, for his lord smelled as one who bathed in the moon’s glow . . .  as one who wrapped himself in the night mist like a regal robe.  His scent, refreshing like the forest loam on a humid night and underneath it all,  faint traces of copper, iron and phosphorous … the blood of his prey

But my lord is a powerful being, able to conceal his presence and even his scent if he wishes. Come now, quit yourself and prepare for his wrath.  But wait, the windows have been flung open, he absently thought as mild breezes licked at the hems of his pant legs.  And the drapes, they’ve been pushed back, giving access to the heat of the day. Master would never put himself in jeopardy just to punish me.  

So, it is Kinoe alone I must face.

Nervous fingers comb through his hair and sweaty palms brush along the front of his jacket.  I cannot kill him, though I long for his demise.  Another deep breath and he closed his eyes.

Silver door handles, cool under his palms, were to him a lifeline as he stood there, mustering his courage and dampening his temper. He felt himself cringe at the sounds of rustling paper and the scratch of a pen’s nib moving briskly across the lines of a ledger book; swallowing down a curse, he grit his teeth when the strident voice beyond the closed doors sang out;

“Do come in, Maito.”

No sooner than he’d pushed open the doors, intense light lunged at him from behind heavy burgundy brocade drapes; dust motes and dog hair pirouette in the sunbeams.

“I’ll thank you to close those doors quickly, the noise of the workmen has been driving me to distraction all morning,” said the pompous man seated at the desk to his right.

Maito did as instructed out of respect for the home of his lord, completely ignoring the other man as he stood stock still near the entryway of the salon. Pointedly turning his body away, his eyes wistfully take in his favorite part of the room. Far to his left, stood a marble front fireplace and slightly away from its hearth sat two high backed leather chairs; their brass brads no longer shone, having spent years being discolored by the soot from the fireplace.   A round table of mahogany topped with the finest slate stood between the chairs; a crystal decanter and two snifters, rest on its surface.  On either side of the fireplace, floor to ceiling shelves housed a portion of the elder Hatake’s most beloved books.

Long forgotten memories spark a tiny, sad smile.

Of all the rooms in the manor, this was one of the few that remained just as Hatake Sakumo left it.

Having spent the majority of his life living abroad, it reflected a European sensibility that resonated with Lord Sakumo’s soul.  And if he closed his eyes . . .  just for a moment, he could still smell the special blend of pipe tobaccos Sakumo-dono favored … he could still hear his voice, could feel his power, pressed down and encapsulated within these four walls.

He and his father before him frequently shared this space with the heads of the household; Maito sitting at the feet of the Master’s son, while his father sat on the floor beside the late, great Hatake Sakumo.  Since their return from England, it was here on cool nights he and the current Master sat side by side in those old chairs, sipping cognac . . . watching the fire crackle in silence.

What a lumbering, bumptious oaf, Kinoe thought as he watched the other man stride off in the opposite direction.

“Now pay attention, you hairy goon… I’ll try to make this simple enough for even you to understand,” he said. “Umino and his companions have arrived in the territory; I’ve already informed the Master.”

Maito turned and was standing in front of the other man before he could take in another breath; his fangs bared and his paw full of the soft material of Kinoe’s shirt as he lifted him up and away from his seat.

“What else did you tell him?”

Kinoe stared the partially transformed beast in his glowing yellow eyes, his voice never once giving any indication of the fear his shaking limbs were only too happy to show.

“Release me, unwashed philistine! Our lord is already aware of your ineptitude.”  

As Maito’s grip tightened and his claws dug into the yielding flesh of his chest, Kinoe wrapped his hands around the massive paw holding him aloft.  “Hatake-dono wants you to keep an eye on Umino,” he gasped.  “He expects a report on where he’s staying and to whom he’s spoken with as soon as we return from the wake tonight.”

At the mention of the Master’s name, his natural form retreated under the surface of the human skin.  Cautiously, he released the other man with a slight backward push.  “So, he’s tracked us here at last . . .  persistent little shit, isn’t he?”

When he rounded the corner of the desk, he saw Kinoe struggling to regain his balance and it cheered him.  Now standing halfway between the desk and the salon doors, he said, “I’d rather snap Umino's neck and be done with it--”

“Ah, but then, our lord will surely banish you from his presence for tampering with another one of his prey. Much as I’d like to see you permanently removed, Maito, I’m sure even you aren’t that stupid.”

His mind, still fogged with rage urged him forward as the other man’s words harnessed the wrath rising within him; when he turned about, Kinoe had retaken his seat with a smirk on his face and a silver dagger lying beside his hand.

 “What of the others?” he growled.

“Master’s interest is only with Umino, so I’m at liberty to kill and eat the rest . . .  right?”

 

Note:

Cockalorum: a self important little man.

Recherche: Stitches in Time

 Recherché Chapter Nine

Alas and alack, poor Ibiki.

No matter how fast or how far he ran,

from this dilemma there was no escape.

The sun beat against his back even as the chilly fingers of anxiety stutter step along his spine.  The reins fell slack in his hands, his eyes and ears deceived by the tricks of his mind.  The leaves in the trees are as the accusing eyes of the people he was sworn to protect; the babbling brooks in the distance are as the murmurs of a government whose laws he was sworn to uphold.  And the bushes stretch forth their brambles, piercing his heart like the skepticism and contempt of the men he was charged to lead.

Finally at the place where flat landscape reached its terminus and jagged outlines of the forests begin, Ibiki guided his mount off the well-trodden path.  They stand reverently before a sentry of ancient conifers guarding the passage into the wilds; this place was always his refuge, a bastion of tranquility where the weight of the world slipped from his shoulders.

Alas and alack, poor Ibiki,

it would not be so this day.

Though the soft breezes impregnated with intoxicating attars of wildflowers tug at his lingering bitterness, the sense of melancholy never falters; the weight of betrayal clings to him as a mouldy shroud.  He shook his head, closing his eyes and shutting his ears to the conjured images and sounds as his mount adopts an ambling gait.  “Unbelievable,” he said, as he sharply pulled back on the reins.  “A woman that intelligent and perceptive insists on kowtowing to the fairy stories of her ancestors.  Ridiculous!”

Without warning was he pitched forward, his forehead colliding with Mayonaka’s poll when the horse came to a standstill. “What a horrid master I am,” he whispered into a flickering ear.   “It’s been years since I worked you this hard … sorry about that old friend.”  Smoothing his hand down the muscular neck, he said,  “You’ve earned your rest and here’s a good a place as any to take it.”  

Gingerly alighting the saddle, a flick of the wrist brought the reins over the horse’s head.  “If memory serves, there’s a little creek beyond that clump of trees … let’s go.”

Mayonaka took a few timid steps and paused; a slight tug on the reins and the horse took a few steps more and pulled back against the lead.

“Okay … what’s your problem?”

The horse responded with a snort and a jerk of his massive head in the opposite direction.  Digging his hooves into the soft grasses, he refused to budge.  

“You realize this conduct is unbecoming a patrol officer, don’t you? Come along now, I’ve had my fill of contrariness for one morning.”

This time, Mayonaka almost jerked his arm from its socket.

“Fine! I’ve no time for your nonsense either!” He stalked off toward the creek, rifling through his pockets as he went. Eyeing a smooth wide tree stump, he skirted around it, too angry to sit just now. Under the resplendent shade of towering trees, humid winds tote the call and response of the komadori and cool waters splash over smooth stones in the belly of the creek as he paced alongside the mossy bank. He stops short near a clump of waist high spindly foliage veiling his view of the town.  

“I know the answer is staring me in the face … why the hell can’t I see it?”

In the distance, faint strains of a steam whistle issuing from the lumber mill called workers back to their posts and as it does, Ibiki finds himself wishing he could trade places with them; to daily expend his strength producing something of value.  He allows himself to think how pleasant it would be - returning to his abode by evening, an honest day’s work having leached his energy that he might rest in the bosom of dreamless sleep by night.

But it was never to be so; that he knew right well.

The stillness of the forest takes him captive once more - the crunch of his teeth tearing away the tip of the cigar he’d fished from his pocket is almost deafening.  Sweet cognac and bitter tobacco dowse his taste buds as he turns his back on the town and stands transfixed, watching the end piece of his cigar gracefully arc as it shoots from his mouth; an embittered laugh rises from his chest as his eyes follow the ragged wad as it bobs and floats in the dark cool creek water.

Well if that doesn’t sum up my life these past months, nothing else can.

Months pass and the center of his desk filled with paperwork about these murders; day by day, malicious whispers and the distrustful eyes of the masses adhere to his back everywhere he went.  These things ripped out a chunk of his confidence and spewed it forth like tainted meat.  Now, he floundered in the slow moving currents of failure with little time  before the waters of bureaucracy would engulf and drag him down.

Back to the tree stump he wandered, taking a seat and striking a match against the sole of his boot.

“Here I thought you were the only one who understood me.  You know, I’ve never faced anything like this before, Mayonaka; it scares the hell out of me.  And you, a friend … a fellow officer no less, refusing to assuage my concerns, well .. well.”

Mayonaka quietly approached, his pasterns brushing over tender ground cover with a swish and crisp leaf litter crunches beneath his hooves.  He stands to Ibiki’s right, fixing him with the equine equivalent of empathy.

“I hate the fact that you know me so well,” he said with a chuckle.  “So here’s the situation in a nutshell …  if I go along with this piffle about undead creatures on a rampage, there’s no way I can justify that nor encourage my men to continue their investigation. Calling in a demon hunter would take the constables out of the equation and make us an even bigger laughingstock.”

Mayonaka snorted.

“My sentiments exactly.  But, if I follow my gut that’s telling me this is the work of one or more deranged human beings … how the hell do I prove it to the Advisory Council and the people of the territory?”

Mayonaka shook his head as he drew closer to his troubled master.

“The way I see it, Umino is an agent from another nation jealous of our prosperity; by sending him, they hope to scare us away from opening our borders to foreigners.  Or, he’s working with some religious nutcases inside the territory.  Either way, I figure Umino is an accomplice or an accessory to murder.  

Wait a minute,” he said as he stood.  “There’s another powerful and extremely vocal faction of men who oppose trade with foreign lands though their worries have nothing to do with the loss of culture or heritage.  On the contrary, trade with foreign nations would increase their wealth.  What they fear is losing control over the minds of the people.”

Once more he took to pacing as Mayonaka positioned himself by the creek for a drink.

“Shimura Danzou and Kokucho Orochimaru … two of the oldest and most influential members of the Advisory Council; they spend their days exerting pressure on the Governor and me by extension to get a handle on these killings, so it looks like they have the interests of the people at heart.  And with the murder of Hyuga Hitomi, each of them gains leverage to unseat the sole heir of the Senju legacy.   They know I’d never consider them suspects and they’ve tolerated me this long, because I’ve been discrete . . . kept my mouth shut about their …  unnatural relations.”

With his mount quenching his thirst, Ibiki rummaged through the saddlebags.  The water in his canteen surprisingly cool, fresh and sweet; a backward swipe of his forearm sopped up the moisture clinging to his lips.

And with the other hand, he absently cards through Mayonaka’s silken mane.  A cloud of smoke enfolds him as he leans against the sinewy shoulder of his mount.   “I’m damned either way I turn … aren’t I?  No idea how to proceed … not sure if I want to anymore.

Whether intended to bat away a biting insect or to knock some sense into the dejected officer beside him, Ibiki laughed at himself when the tips of the horse’s heavy tail thumped against his back.

“Okay … message received,” he said with a sigh, “if you’ll just go with me to the crime scene, I promise to stop feeling sorry for myself . . . agreed?”

Recherché

 It was quarter past the hour when she left the office; across the street she saw a fresh troop of horses and their handlers lining up for inspection outside the constabulary and immediately considered doing an about face.  No, she thought squaring her shoulders and scurrying across the plaza, Lady Tsunade is depending on me.

Over the last four months, the mounted patrol saw an increase in their workload as more of the concerned rich demanded greater protection around their estates.  Cocksure and enterprising, several of these men earned money under the table working as private security forces; for this she did not begrudge them.  Yet it was the selfsame reason she didn’t fancy being in their presence.  In her mind, some of them were no better than thugs, wearing uniforms to cover their cowardice, willing to fleece the rich as long as they could and ready to flee at the slightest hint of a bugbear.

Shizune realized that with the changing of shifts the Inspector might be unavailable for an indeterminable time and leaving the Governor’s note with anyone other than him was out of the question.

She’ll know if I didn’t follow her instructions exactly so, I can’t turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed through the clutch of officers as they entered and exited the building, nodding her head in acknowledgement and smiling politely as they passed her by.  Once inside the squad room, she ducked into a corner; out of the officer's way yet with an excellent vantage point to catch sight of the Inspector.

To the left of the watch commander’s desk stood an orderly line of constables, laughing and talking as they waited their turns to sign in.  Over the din, she heard someone call out to her.   she turned to Ryota, beckoning her to come alongside his desk.

 “Shift change” he said.  What can I do for you, Miss Shizune?”

“The Inspector … I need to see him. Is he in his office?”

Ryota shook his head sadly.

“Lady Tsunade told me to put this note directly in his hand; have you any idea where I can find him?”

“Nope and I can’t promise he’ll see it today either,” he said, holding out his hand to receive the small envelope clutched against her obi. “I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Looking around the room once more, she held the note tighter.  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.  Are you sure he didn’t sneak past you?  I mean with all this commotion . . . perhaps he’s in the restroom?”

He gave her a big grin as another officer dropped off his report.   “Nothing or nobody comes through here without my notice.  Trust me, if the Inspector were in the building, we wouldn’t have all this hubbub.”

She glanced around the room a final time, “I don’t mind waiting--”

“And I don’t expect him back anytime soon.”  Turning to straighten the pile of papers at the corner of the desk he said, “Ibiki was a wee bit ‘preoccupied’ this morning; whatever happened during that meeting with the Governor, well … it brought out the worst in him.”

“Don’t forget, we had an interesting morning on my side of the street too . . . that meeting did nothing to improve Lady Tsunade’s state of mind either.”

Ryota bowed his head. “Now, now, I’m just stating fact; no need to get yourself upset.”

Just then, the clock in the station room chimed the half hour and the noise level in the room dropped down to hushed whispers as the men clustered together in the center of the room.

“Ibiki went out to a crime scene,” he whispered. “Got a feeling he’s not coming back.”

“I see.  Lady Tsunade was ticked off when she excused herself from the office as well.  Claimed she was going for a long walk but I know she didn’t get far.  Probably sitting under her favorite tree in the park people watching or else she’s holed up near the sea, watching the waves roll in.”

Quickly looking his left and right as a few of the constables milled about, he leaned over and whispered, “Who do those two think they’re fooling …not us, right?  The Inspector and the Governor, stubborn as two swaybacked pack mules under heavy loads.  With everything going on lately, is it any wonder they’re frazzled?”

Shizune bent down and propped her elbow on the desk. “They’re cut from the same cloth” she whispered.  “Completely unyielding when they think they’re in the right … quick to apologize when they find out they aren’t.” 

Jotting down a few notes from the thin manila folder before him, Ryota mumbled, “With that swarm of solicitors descending on her like fussed up hornets and the tragedy striking one of the richest and most powerful families in the territory weighing on Ibiki’s mind, both of ‘em were pushed to their limits --”

“And when they bumped heads” said Shizune, “I’m sure there was an explosion--”

“Exactly,” he said, closing the folder. “Those two just need a little time and a lot of space to cool down . . .  that’s all.”

Tucking the note inside a ruck of her obi, she said, “You’re right, it’s not like this was the first time they didn’t see eye to eye about something.”

“Yep, they’ll meet up at the tsuya tonight, dance around each other as if nothing happened and by tomorrow, all will be forgiven and forgotten.”

Standing taller now, Shizune smiled at the sage watch commander, “Thanks, Ryota. I’ve got some things to finalize before the wake … best tend to them before the Governor gets back.”

“See you tonight, Miss Shizune.”

 Recherché

 The closer they came to the appointed place, once more Mayonaka exhibited a growing reluctance to follow his lead; that was unusual, yet forgivable, for there was an intangible eerie sense in the atmosphere.  A few gentle strokes of his hand along the velvety soft nose and a couple of calmly spoken words made it possible to tether the reins around a tree trunk. But before going deeper into the gloaming, Ibiki extracted one of the daggers holstered inside his boot.

He no longer needed the map; the forest floor was swept clean in this space and not by the winds whistling through the trees.  Sawdust and straw meticulously raked in a circular pattern, made it hard to miss the footprints of Raidou and Aoba.

All of the trees in this area were hewn to the same exact height -- that wasn’t unusual.   Lumberjacks often tied ropes around a clump of trees at a preselected height – he’d long since forgotten the reasons why. However, at the base of each tree stump lay a garland of dead, dried flowers; that wasn’t something lumberjacks did as a rule.  One thing more; the bark of the trees had diagonal lines gouged in the wood.  Again, he shrugged it off.  These gouges were deep, and randomly spaced, as if torn off by a animal’s claws.

Well, that reinforces the notion our hunter met his fate at the paws of a hungry bear or a famished mountain lion.  But wild animals don’t leave behind memorial garlands.

He ascended a ridge above the trees and from this vantage point two things were clear.  These might have been randomly cut down and there was evidence that several other trees had been culled out from this cluster.  From the craters left behind, he knew they’d been ripped up by their roots.

But why?

At least six feet of space separated the trees on each side.  “Together,” he mumbled to himself, “they resemble . . . an arrowhead with its tip pointing due north.

Why is it pointing toward the cemetery?

Notes:

Komadori: robin(s).

Poll: name for a part of an animal's head, referring to a point immediately behind or right between the ears. This area has a slight depression and is very sensitive. Since the crownpiece of a bridle passes over the poll joint, a rider indirectly exerts pressure on the horse's poll by means of the reins, bit and bridle.

Pastern: parts of a horse’s leg between its fetlocks and hooves.