Ronin in a Rusted World: V - The Red Fire League

Using the van der Molen method, it was a simple matter to identify the lone Kyoto passenger aboard the Kiseru Express. Matahei Fushimi was obvious, from the patch on his clothes, to his preference for pickles, as well as the way he said “thank you.”

He was quickly and quietly apprehended by the detective with the help of Kenichi, Dr. Lan and the conductor. There, they hauled him to the back, where they placed him in one of the luggage cages in the caboose until they could bring him to proper justice.

Kenichi informed Clay when he saw him again, emphasizing the importance of not saying anything that might startle the other passengers. He understood immediately.

With a great sigh of relief, Kenichi stepped back into the passenger car. Percy was still playing Whist, but both the woman in the metal mask and the child with the flute had stepped out. Van der Molen and Dr. Lan were the other two alongside the inventor and the mechanical rabbit vendor. The remains of the koi sat on one of the seats beside them, well examined by both men.

Kenichi stepped past them, holding onto his saya so as to not accidentally bump anybody as he passed. He stepped into the dining car.

Marumi sat there, cleaning a plate with a cloth. She looked up at Kenichi. “Busy day?” she asked. He nodded and sat down at the bar. She poured him a cup of genmaicha. He sat down at the bar and set the cat mask down on the counter. He held the cup in his hand, watched the steam drift from the top. He looked up at Marumi.

This was the fourth Marumi he had met, or maybe it was still the same one. He wasn't sure what the rules were.

“What?” she said, noticing him looking at her.

“Oh,” he said. “It's just that you look exactly like the Marumi I know back home.”

She smiled. “I'm still not convinced that that's not a line you're trying on me,” she said.

He smiled back. “Maybe it is.” He sipped his tea.

“Where is home?” she asked.

He set the cup down. After looking into the leaf fragments twirling around at the bottom of his cup for a moment, he spoke. “A long, long way away from here,” he said. He finished his tea.

She refilled it. “You look like you've had to fight your way through the underworld,” she said. “Would you like something stronger than tea?”

Kenichi looked up at the rows of sake and French liqueurs on the shelf behind her. The taste of Verdigris came to his mind, as did the taste of the Seven Seas. They both had that same bitter, sour taste followed by burning. He shook his head. “Tea's fine,” he said.

They sat there for a while in silence. The weight of Kenichi's unsaid words sat like an elephant on the counter between them. He wanted to tell her everything, but he didn't know how to put it so that he didn't sound crazy. Maybe he was crazy. He sipped his tea. Still, if he was crazy, then maybe he should just do something crazy. At the very least, he could figure out the right words to say through trial and error, Marumi after Marumi after Marumi.

“Marumi,” he said.

“Yes?” she said.

“I know this might sound crazy, but--”

Just then the train came to a sudden stop. The moment was broken.

The conductor came into the dining car. “We've had to make an unexpected stop,” he said before going into the next car to say the same thing.

Kenichi looked out the windows on the side opposite the bar. In the waning daylight, he saw a small group of soldiers standing outside the train, waiting for their turn to board. Between the two masses of them was a woman wearing a black kimono with flames embroidered upon it. The kimono had almost a militaristic design to it.

“The Shogun,” a voice whispered beside him. Another one of the diners had taken a spot at the window next to Kenichi. “I wonder why she's getting on the train.”

Kenichi looked over at the man. “That's the Shogun?” he said. He had expected it to be a man.

The man misunderstood Kenichi, thinking he had just never seen her or a close enough illustration of her to recognize her. “Yes, that's Kagira,” he said. “She looks better than the pictures, if you ask me.” He chuckled.

Kenichi watched as the soldiers, mostly hatamoto and gokenin, filed onto the train. The conductor entered the dining car. “It is requested that all diners return to their seats,” he said. An imposing hatamoto stood behind him.

The silence of the room was almost audible as the diners finished what they could of their meals or drinks before filing to the front or back of the car, depending on their tickets.

Kenichi grabbed the cat mask and gave one last look at Marumi before leaving. Her eyes were wide and her shoulders were tense, as if ready for anything.

Kenichi found his seat across from Percy, who had since put aside his Whist game. He and the mechanical rabbit merchant had done their best to reconstruct the clockwork koi, and it lay, lazily flopping, on the empty seat beside the inventor.

“I had thought the boy played a mean Whist game,” he said to Kenichi in English, “but between that Dutch man and that lovely Chinese woman, I don't think I won a single trick.”

Kenichi nodded. Percy's gaze lingered on Dr. Lan.

“Why did we stop?” the inventor asked, this time in Japanese.

“The Shogun has decided to board the train,” Kenichi said. “They made everybody leave the dining car and go back to their seats.”

“That explains why it's so quiet,” Percy said. “Well, I for one feel safer with her aboard. A little law and order goes a long way. I doubt there would have been that incident with that fan maker from Kyoto earlier if she and her soldiers had been aboard from the start.” He pulled out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “You had better go relieve Clay. This will be a nice quiet shift, if you ask me.” He smiled.

Kenichi rose from his seat. He walked to the back of the car. Before leaving, he looked back at the crowd of passengers. Van der Molen had his tricorn hat over his eyes, and he was sleeping. Dr. Lan was reading a book. The boy with the flute was moving his fingers over the holes, practicing without playing his instrument. Each passenger in their own way was keeping to themselves.

He stepped into the baggage car. The mechanical rabbits too were quiet, either because their clockwork had wound down, or they too had an inkling of the solemn feeling that washed over the train. Stepping into the next car, he found Clay. The cowboy was playing a game of Solitaire on the wooden crate. He looked up at the ronin as he entered. “‘Bout that time?” he said.

“Yes,” said Kenichi.

Clay scooped up his cards in one fluid motion, stuffing them into a back pocket. “I'll come get you for the next shift,” he said before moseying out of the caboose and toward the passenger car.

Kenichi looked at the crate. The wood that comprised it was one he didn't recognize. He ran his fingers down the side.

“It's acacia,” said a voice behind him. Startled, he looked up. It was Matahei, the Kyoto assassin. He held the bars to the luggage cage with his hands, leaning his forehead against them. “It's not a common material for crates,” he said. “But it's the same sort of wood that was used for the Ark of the Covenant.”

“Excuse me?” said Kenichi.

Matahei clutched a rosary in his hands. “The Ark of the Covenant,” he said again. “The vessel that contained the Ten Commandments. It was made from the burning tree of the desert that God used to talk to Moses.”

Kenichi's expression was blank. He wasn't following what this man was saying.

“I am a Kakure Kirishitan,” said the man. “Persecuted, forced to live underground or face brutal treatment at the hands of the Shogunate.”

“Why are you telling me this, then?” Kenichi said.

“I'm as good as dead anyway,” said the man. “I might as well get one last confession in.” He looked Kenichi up and down. “Even if you aren't a priest. Maybe if you come across one, you can pass it along.” He smiled. His gaze went over to the crate. “Acacia has certain properties, beyond the vision-inducing nature of its smoke. It is also capable of retaining angelic creatures.”

Kenichi looked at the crate. He stepped over to it and placed his hand upon the surface. The box felt alive. He wasn't entirely sure what it was about it that made him think that, perhaps the feeling of something shifting around within its walls. Then, something knocked on the wood. Three short knocks.

Kenichi knocked back, matching the pattern.

Two knocks.

Kenichi responded.

Only one knock.

Kenichi responded.

Silence.

Matahei was watching him with rapt attention. “The symbols the ivy makes on the crate are a sealing symbol. Left unbroken, and they will hold whatever is inside that box.”

“Why would someone keep an angel in a box?” Kenichi asked the prisoner.

“Perhaps your master has a similar goal as me,” Matahei said.

Kenichi stepped closer to the luggage cage. “And what goal is that?”

Matahei's eyes gleamed. “To destroy the Shogun.” His eyes flicked over to the cat mask. “The mask told me what to do.”

The kabuki mask sat there on the top of the crate where Kenichi had left it. Its painted purple eyes seemed to be looking right at him.

“Is she that bad?” Kenichi asked.

“She keeps the families of the daimyo imprisoned in Edo so that they do not try to overthrow her. She tortures and kills people like me. She rules the land with an iron fist, and burns down all that dare defy her. Anybody who does not fight against her is complicit in her tyrrany.”

Kenichi raised an eyebrow at this. “That's a bit extreme,” he said. “Taketori didn't deserve to die just because his family was being held hostage, and he valued their safety.”

“Why should I care about the safety of his family, a bunch of rich, comfortable nobles, when I have to fight every day for survival? His struggles were but a ripple on the water's surface to the sheer tsunami that I face constantly.”

“Still,” said Kenichi, “I don't think that justified your killing him. Aren't you supposed to believe killing is wrong?”

The prisoner laughed. “I fight for what is right against those who do wrong. They lived by their sword, and died by it too.”

Kenichi backed away from the prisoner. “You're starting to make me think you're crazy.”

“Just listen to the mask. It will tell you everything.” Matahei sat down in his cell and leaned against the wall. Then he started humming something that sounded like a hymn to Kenichi.

The ronin sighed. He looked back at the cat mask. It reminded him of that cat, the one he had saved, the one who had in turn saved him from the space spider. Was Katje the same cat? Those purple eyes seemed to peer into his soul. He picked the mask up off the crate and rolled it around in his hands. The inside of the mask was so black it was almost formless, like a void, like an abyss. Staring into it was like staring into the universe. He drew the mask closer and closer to his face, until he wore it.

Visions darted before his eyes. He saw Kagira, the Shogun of Iron and Flame, ruling over Japan with a tight grip. Waves of fire destroyed villages, leaving nothing but smoke and ash behind. The daimyo were forced to enact her will, or they would come home to ash-filled urns, still warm and smoking. Anybody who defied her was nothing but a charred skeleton. The horrors of the Shogun flashed before his eyes. It made Kenichi sick.

He yanked the mask from his face and staggered away from it. He backed into the luggage cart, and trying to not fall over, managed to knock several bags from their shelves with his hands and saya. Something clattered to the floor. It was the cage full of mechanical rabbits. The door flopped open and the rabbits, wound up from the crash, started hopping about the floor. Kenichi steadied himself against the shelf. The visions had moved him. He almost started to believe what Matahei had said about anybody not battling Kagira as being complicit. Almost.

One thing was apparent, though, he knew that he needed to stop her. He looked toward the door to the passenger car. He could go that way to confront her, but he remembered the small army that accompanied her. He didn't quite agree that those who served under her should be punished as well, so he wanted to avoid unnecessary confrontations.

Then he remembered the handrail along the outside of the train. He returned to the caboose, several of the rabbits trailing after him. They started chewing on whatever was nearby: luggage, boxes, crates. Kenichi picked up the mask and stuck it against the side of his head. “What's the best way to the front?” he asked the prisoner.

Matahei looked up from his seat on the floor. “Out through the back,” he said.