Recherche: Stitches in Time

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 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.