A Bouquet For Witches

The prison was like most things in Central Ward: ancient, imposing, and riddled with rot. Even in the depths of the jail, water still collected on the ceiling in a lamplit sheen. Arata considered if the dew was like the new occupant, trapped down there by some natural process instead of free will. There must have been some reason so many continued colluding with witches despite the devastation they left in their wake.

Tsukishiba barely made a sound as they shut her behind a wooden slat door, her tear-puffed face disappearing into the blackness. She should savour this quiet time, Arata thought, it's the last she'll know before interrogation begins.

Leaving the dungeon was always more difficult than entering. By that point the prisoners realised the witch hunters weren't there to release them of the incarceration they don't deserve, and their pleading turned to insults. As a man Arata knew had been put away for looting a burnt house grabbed his sleeve, he slammed the scabbard of his katana hard on the outstretched forearm. "Quiet!" Was all it took to shut them up, helped in no small part by the criminal's pained screams.

On the last step on their way out of the dungeon, Sawatari tripped and had to grab the wall to stabilise herself. Arata made to help her but she made a move to stop him. Her dark-glasses hung loose in her free hand.

“I need to get out of this place, Arata.” Her words came out struggling. “I don't know how much more I can take.”

“We’re close to winning,” Arata tried to lie to both of them, “And after that we'll…” He couldn't finish the sentence, his throat turned dry and closed on him. Fifteen arsons in the last three months, more than there had ever had before. Since the Great Fire they might have learnt more about the witches but stopping them felt as far away as leaving this place. If only he had caught that one alive, the wind might have begun to blow in their favour.

Sawatari gave a sigh and pushed herself back up, her expression somewhere between regret and disappointment. It cut into Arata sharper than any blade. She put on her dark-glasses and exited out into the castle walls’ inner face. Rain shivered across the stone courtyard, ending the dry spell and washing away the evidence Arata was looking for in Marshtown. If witches came from the mire before every attack, they would track in mud wherever they stepped. He hadn't found even a single footprint and definitely wouldn't anymore. Arata followed Sawatari out, pulling up his hood as he did.

“On our way back, I checked for you if Amagi knew anything about the men Koseki walked off with.” She didn't look up at Arata as they walked. “She said a lot about protecting her clients’ confidentiality. I don't think we could have hoped for anything better.”

“So we're stuck until Tsukishiba answers some questions.”

Sawatari didn't have a chance to respond. As soon as they stepped beyond the fort gates, a woman sprang on them, her clothes and bent-over posture giving her away as a rice farmer.

“Good afternoon, noble witch hunters. I have a suspicion.” She whispered in a sharp voice, loud enough for both to hear. “My neighbour, he is having meetings with witches. I know it.”

“What evidence do you have?” Arata asked, almost crouching to meet her eyes.

“He's been keeping his lamps all through the night, both upstairs and down. The light's enough to scare me awake, thinking his house is burning to the ground."

Breaking fire codes was one thing but for that to be the basis of an accusation of collusion with witches, it was weak evidence. “Is that it?” Arata had begun to walk down the fort steps into Central Ward with Sawatari, the woman stepping backwards to keep a constant distance.

“He's a hunter in the forest, so I don't see what he does for most of the day—" She almost bumped into a tradesman walking the other direction and had to steady herself, "But every night he brings back fresh flowers for someone."

"So has he done this even before the fire codes?" Sawatari asked, pulling the rice-worker aside before she knocked over someone else.

"Oh no, only for the past few months.”

Arata turned to Sawatari and she mirrored his opinion. Their dark-glasses hid their expressions but their body language gave it away. Unless witches could be courted with bouquets, this would be a waste of time.

***

The sun had shrunk cowardly behind clouds by the time they arrived in Marshtown. So close to the bog, frogsongs rumbled from every surface, thickening the air like the black water they came from. Rain came down now in slices like from a handloom, heavy enough to force Arata and Sawatari under the thatched eaves of the house. Arata knocked at the door again, eager to be out of the downpour.

“Open up, on behalf of the daimyo.” Sawatari shouted, although her voice was almost washed out.

The house was up a zigzag of wooden stairs from the main street as if it was pushed to the summit of the hill by the crowding houses around it. Light gushed from every windows into the streaks of rain outside. Fire codes prevented any lamps being lit above the ground floor for risk of setting the roof alight. How no one had cracked down on it before then was beyond him.

Arata made to knock again when the door opened, an older man almost as tall as he was appearing in the crack.

“What can I help you with?” He asked without any hint of panic or guilt in his words.

“You have lamps on your upstairs floor, specifically prohibited by the daimyo for your own safety and that of your neighbours.” Arata replied, pushing the door wider with his hand.

“Oh I do, don't I?” The man scratched at his chin almost like he considered it for the first time. “But you know it's so cold this time of year and it gets dark so early.”

“These laws are set for a reason.” Sawatari peered into the doorway from the opposite side. “Can we come in?”

“Of course, but I can already imagine what my wife will say about unexpected guests.” He pushed the door wider and gave them a full view of the entranceway. Only his shoes were stored next to the step up.

“Your wife isn't in at the moment.” Arata stated, walking in after Sawatari.

“Oh no, she's out with my daughter but they should be getting back soon.”

Both removed their boots as they followed the man inside. The interior compensated for how dark the day had turned. Every alcove included at least one lamp covered in cheap, coarse paper. Where he couldn't cram any more, Arata and Sawatari had to sidestep between lanterns dotting the floor like moss in a garden. Antlers of deer and hunting bows hung at odd intervals from the wall whilst in the kitchen, the hide of an impressive tanuki draped over the doorway.

“You're quite an accomplished hunter.” Sawatari remarked, admiring the still intact teeth of the animal.

“Yes but it's a bad season for it, I reckon witches must be out there eating all the game.” The man tried to make himself busy with the stilted detachment characteristic of having strangers in his house.

“Sure.” Arata checked the floors for scorch marks and the walls for hidden panels. He hissed as a splinter pricked his finger. “Let's look upstairs.”

“If it's by the daimyo's orders, who am I to stop you?" The hunter lead the way. "But there's nothing much more to see."

They moved room to room upstairs in the same wintery lamplight. Cobwebs collected in more dense foliage between the antlers here but the lanterns were clean.

They reached the bedroom at the enter of the hallway, a utilitarian room with only a futon.

"Nothing in there, as I said." Came the call of the hunter, but they had to search anyway.

“You know this brings me back." Sawatari said, rolling the futon to check beneath, "After the Great Fire, Shibagaki came to search my house just like this.” Arata looked to her at the mention of his father. “My mother made him tea whilst my father tried to argue why he would be singled out. I can't remember what he said to my dad but it definitely shut him up. The reason I became a witch hunter was mainly to learn how to do that.”

"And did you—"

"See?" The man appeared in the doorway before Arata could finish the question. "Even if I had anything to hide, you would have found it by now.” Arata and Sawatari were compelled to agree.

“You still have to extinguish all your lamps on the top floor.” Sawatari said on her way past him. “We'll be back at the same time tomorrow and you'll receive a fine for any still lit.”

Night fell with the rain once they were outside, churning up a smell of cold mud. Both tried to descend the steps as fast they could whilst still appearing authoritative. "How about a reward after a long day." Sawatari turned towards Central Ward. "First round's on me." Arata didn't follow.

"I'll pass," He called, walking in the opposite direction, "There's someone here I want to visit.”