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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.