Evidence, No Matter The Source

If Uesugi refused to give them information about the men who met with Koseki outside the brothel, Arata would have to find it himself. The rain soaked the air in a hushing undertone whilst the prying gaze of nightlights glimmered molten on the plankways between houses. Arata drew his hood tighter as if it would make the silhouette of a one-armed witch hunter more discrete and tried to recall the saké-drenched memories of taking his associate home. One street away from deciding he was lost, he caught sight of a familiar house. It protrude from a tight ally at the corner, a shadow of damp underneath the doorway lanterns like they'd never been lit.

He slammed his fist on the door.

“Kawaragi, it's Shibagaki, don't make me stand out in the rain.” This was the second time today he knocked at a door without a reply. He tried to open it and found it unlocked, the interior dark and filled with the smell of damp. No one had lived here for a long time.

"You know you shouldn't open people's doors uninvited." Arata felt a hard edge press through the coat into the back of his neck. He recognised the voice and Kawaragi either couldn't tell in the dim light that he was threatening a witch hunter or he just didn't care. "But now I'm here, you can go ahead inside."

Not wanting to upset the man with a knife to his back, he obliged. Kawaragi closed the door behind them but didn't light a lamp, he must have known Arata's eyes were adapted to the dark. So he just didn't care.

"Now you're going to tell me how you know my name and why you're keeping the neighbours awake yelling it." Arata tried to crane his neck to get a view of his abductor's face and felt the knife dig deeper into his hood. "And don't try turning around."

"I brought you back here a few months back after we both drank too much at the Red Blossoms. You seemed a reliable source at the time, I wanted to hear if you could help me with a burning."

Without remark, the blade pulled away and Arata turned to see Kawaragi holding the flat end against his cheek in thought. It was like looking into a mirror: a man too tired to shave, too overworked to keep his hair from growing rough. He traced the knife's tip to his chin.

"You know I had thought at the time that you didn't act like a bakuto." Kawaragi twisted the knife point on his skin. "I really must have had too much to drink if I didn't realise you were a witch hunter. You're inside now, might as well take a seat."

They knelt on the peeling tatami around a low table with more cuts in it than water marks. To Arata's surprise, Kawaragi kept a bottle of saké in the safe house and it now stood as the only thing between them. Arata's cup was empty whilst Kawaragi's hung loose between his fingers. He took a sip.

"What can I do for you, Shibagaki?"

"I know you're a regular at the Red Blossoms, I wanted to know if you were there last night."

“Are witch hunters cracking down on immodesty as well now?”

Arata ran his tongue across the inside of his teeth. “I just want information. A man was seen being led off the other night, I thought if you were a witness you might have seen something. He was short, white hair–”

“Quite round?” Kawaragi gave a smile. “His name’s Koseki something if I remember correctly, I heard he was involved with construction?” Arata tried to stifle his reaction but he saw straight through it. “Maybe I did see him last night. It just depends how much do you want the information?”

“Don't play this game, Kawaragi. We both know you made a mistake leading me here that night.”

“Come on, Shibagaki, we're men of similar tastes. We both know that if we want something bad enough, then you have to pay for it.”

“You are aware I could inform the daimyo about your gambling operation and you can watch everything go up in flames.”

“Careful, I might get so frightened I’ll forget seeing anything.” He took his knife resting on the table and stabbed it into the wood—that explained all the cut marks. “Besides, that's only if you're fast enough.”

Arata eyed the tattoos across Kawaragi's arms now his sleeve had slipped, before he returned his gaze. He liked to think that his own tattoos were different. Tigers and cherry blossoms to show courage against the fleeting nature of life instead of oni and chrysanthemums. To the citizens they were the same: the sign of a person to be feared. “Name a price and I can be the judge of whether the information’s worth it.”

"There's a man rotting in the dungeons that did me and my friends dirty before being put away. Now he can stay down there for all I care but he's got a bit of a big mouth that doesn't know when to shut." Kawaragi flicked the handle of the knife so it reverberated through the table. "Now I'm worried he'll get confused and say something and you'll get the wrong idea." He clicked his cheek against his teeth before leaning in. "Swear that you'll make him quiet and I'll tell you what I know."

That was too far. "You know I can't do that." Arata cut back.

"Be serious, Shibagaki, your people give the tax of one body a month to the daimyo but you can't do this for me? Or is it different because this time you're the one doing it? Not much use holding a bow if you've only got one—"

"I said I can't do that. The daimyo's watching me more than anyone else." Arata leaned forward. "One wrong step inside of his castle and he'll know about it."

Kawaragi reached over to pat Arata on the shoulder, a move predictable enough it didn't cause Arata to take his hand off. "You'll make it work, have a bit of faith in yourself." He gave his closest sneer to a smile.

Arata rolled his jaw. Tracing Koseki's movements that night back to the witch singlehandedly would put him on a pedestal. A hero of Giseizawa. “Is the information actually worth it?”

“You have to make it an oath.”

His last oath had been on his wedding day and almost ended with his intestines spilled out in front of him. A watercolour painting of Kiyone on that day welled up at the front of his mind. If it was an oath he wanted, Arata wouldn't break another. “Yes. On the continuation of my bloodline, I vow to uphold it. Now what did you see.”

“Two men I didn't recognise, both bald and with stinking of incense.”

Monks. Korinen Temple beat with prayer drums at the heart of the Heavenly-Gardens pleasure district. It wasn't uncommon to see them on the streets but accosting a client was almost unheard of.

“You know this oath is void if you're deceiving me. You aren't the only contact I have from the House of Red Blossoms.”

“It's not deception if it's what I thought I saw.” Kawaragi took another sip of saké, sighing in pleasure as he slammed the chipped ceramic to the table. “But if you came all this way to see me then I must be the most reliable.”

Arata gestured for the saké bottle and Kawaragi filled up his cup. “It wasn't for you. I was enforcing fire codes, someone had his entire house lit up with lamps.” He took a sip and grimaced at the quality.

“You mean the hunter on the hill? I'm surprised he didn't set the whole place on fire.” Kawaragi’s look dried, staring sag-faced in the middle distance. “I heard he started doing it after he lost his wife in a fire a few months back. You know, keeping the lanterns lit so she can find her way back home."

"His daughter too?"

"I didn't know he had one."

Arata choked on his saké, the spirit like a hornet’s nest in this his throat. “Are you sure?” He spluttered as soon as he recovered his breath.

Kawaragi looked up and shrugged. "I just know enough about people to get by. If you saw something of hers there then maybe he did or maybe he took one off the streets. Better for it, I say."

Arata didn't reply, he was already on his feet. The realisation of what was wrong with that house dropped like a rock in his stomach: there was only one bed.

Back out in the city, throat burning exertion, Arata caught sight of the hunter's home again, light still burning from both floors. He took the stairs two at a time with a crackle in his muscles like a forest fire. He didn't bother knocking, striking the door hard on his shoulder.

The wood gave way. In the kitchen, the hunter dropped a crate to grab a knife. Arata turned to the nearest lamp, drawing his katana to prove his hunch. A quick cut was all it took to confirm, the lantern's paper exterior caved inwards and blue light shone out. Inside was a single flower, stiffened by oil and burning with demon fire.