House of Okuri - V

Whether by luck or misfortune, the House of Okuri turns out to be not five minutes away. We look at it from above. Perched on black, sloping roofs.

“So this is it?” asks Munaku.

“It certainly seems so. The sheer extravagance on display implies as much.”

Before us stands a massive block of black stone. Decorated. With banners depicting the sigil of a wolf with crossed swords. While guards stand in front, blocking any unfortunate enough to be refused.

“This is uh—one of those, isn't it?” she asks, stroking her chin. “I thought they were outlawed in these parts.”

“They are.”

“Oh ho, so a classic case of corruption then? Guess someone's pockets are getting greased with coins.”

“Coins, or other means of service.”

“Lewd means?”

“Potentially.”

“Very nice. I can just picture it already. A small, wood-floored room with a desk seated in a corner. An unsuspecting governor walks in, only to see Okuri kneeling beneath their desk, mouth open so as to perform f—”

“Apprentice. Might your proactive imagination be put to greater means?”

“Are such recounts not the greater means in question?” I stare at her. She wears a great smile, but relents with a half-hearted shrug. “Alright, alright. Let's crack on then.”

My apprentice leans forward, as if about to waltz on in. I grab her by the sleeve.

It’s never a dull day with youngsters…

“Wait. What do you think you’re doing?

“Waltzing on in, naturally.”

“We're trying to be discreet. Challenging them head on is rather counterintuitive to that goal.”

She fixes me with an annoyed look, while blinking long and hard.

After a moment, her face resets to an easy smile.

“I'm not saying we should fight them, Master. I'm simply suggesting you should put your renown to good use.”

“Would you have me walk to the entrance. Proclaim myself as ‘Gamoun the Gallant. Hero of Lagnitia. Former Commander at the Battle of Three Waters’, and hope they take me to Okuri?”

“Yeah.”

Without a moment to spare, she leaps off from the roof, landing on the street with a roll. Although I didn't stop her, I let out a sigh regardless. Like a slightly disappointed parent.

I follow after her. We stop in front of the House of Okuri, staring down two guards. Tall, well-shaped men, with clubs in their hands.

“Pass and name,” says one of the guards.

Munaku starts. “No pass. Gamoun the Gallant is who you're speaking to.”

The guard’s pale face curves into a smile. “Right. And I'm the King of Ineo."

I decide to play along and take off my mask. It’s not the wisest decision, of course. But ultimately, I am on a schedule. And I doubt very much that the staff of an establishment like this would run and report me.

The guard stares at me long and hard. Looking unconvinced as he does so.

A name is more easily known than a face, it would seem.

“General Gamoun’s in prison,” says the other guard. “And he's still rotting there as far as I heard. Why would he be here?”

I fall into thought, thinking of an appropriate reply. It takes me less than a second to find it.

“The why’s of the matter are rather unimportant my friend,” I begin, with a low voice. “What you should be considering instead, is what your master will say when he learns you refused me. And how he'll react when I drag your beaten, and bloodied body to him.”

A pang of guilt hits me. I've never been one to threaten a man for doing his job. For all intents and purposes, he did nothing to deserve such treatment.

The man recoils in place. My words have affected him in some manner. As I see that, my mood lightens, realizing that it wasn't for nothing.

Sharing a few words with his fellow guard, the two then move to give space.

“Very well. But if you so much as harm a hair on Okuri’s head—” He cuts off there, as if thinking what to say next. “Well. I'll have to call someone far stronger than I.”

The double door opens. As we enter the establishment, the atmosphere washes over us. The sound of chatter and rolling dice. The hanging chandeliers. The great stone columns, painted blue and white, lining a room so very tall.

I feel an immediate dislike for the place. For the grandeur, which reminds me very much of the nobility back home. For the people, so engrossed in the act of losing their money and dignity.

And for the fact I have to be here, instead of avenging the death of a man I’ve come to respect.

The guard nods to us before leaving to speak with another. In the meantime, we just stand and observe our surroundings.

I sweep my gaze over the place. Catching bits of furred ears, tails, and all manner of traits I otherwise wouldn’t expect.

Strangely enough, there seems to be a large number of Lagnitian staff here. Beastkin. Working as barmaids, waiters, and all manner of staff. I wonder if Okuri makes a particular incentive to hire them.

“Master, you've been quite evil to me, ya know.” My apprentice says, then letting her eyes scan the room.

“Hm? What have I done?”

“Hiding such a den of degeneracy and filth from your apprentice, I mean. Look at all the pretty dice!” She says, pointing excitedly. “All the pretty ladies with big bahongas, and pretty lads with nice necks!”

“I find such places distasteful.”

“Why? ‘Cause the ladies are wearing low-cut dresses, and the lads are flaunting their luscious legs?”

“It's not a matter of clothing, Munaku.”

“What is it then?”

“It's a matter of intent. The grandeur of this place exists solely as a means of profit, to lull you into wasting your hard-earned money, and losing yourself to excess.”

“You could say the same thing of love.” Her smile is cruel. “If I recall, you've been divorced twice now, haven't you? I wonder how much money and excess you've indulged in then.”

I sigh. “Munaku, this is the twentieth time this month you've brought my former relationships into question. Don't you ever have any new jokes to play with?”

“Nope.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” I say, gauging her expression. “When you’ve fallen out of your first relationship, I won’t hesitate to share your sense of humour.”

“By then, you’ll probably have divorced your fourth wife, anyway.”

Unfortunately, she gets the last word in. As a guard returns, gesturing to us with a nod of his head.

“Come with me.”

He leads us through the hall. We navigate through a maze of tables and gamblers. And we climb up the great staircase at its end, coming face to face with a decorated, blue door.

I move past the guard and open the door.

Inside is Okuri. The man on the banner. A sketa. Or beastskin such as myself. Made in the image of a wolf, with long drooping ears and a blanket of black fur.

He sits in the middle of a long, cushioned bench, with a figure by each side. A young man and woman, respectively. Pale, with white hair, and even whiter skin. And with one leg each.

“W-wh–” his word seizes midway.

“Gamoun, sir,” says the guard. “Gamoun and his unnamed companion are here.”

Okuri puts on an easy smile. “Please leave. I have matters to discuss with them in private.”

The guard makes a swift exit, shutting the door behind him.

“Nigane no ketànis,” Okuri says, speaking in somewhat fluent Lagnitian. Greetings my comrade. “You must be Gamoun, and you must be…” his gaze flickers over Munaku.

“His apprentice,” she replies.

“His apprentice.” Okuri continues, with obvious amusement. “So the great Gamoun does take students, after all. And which apprentice would you be?”

“The best. And favourite. Naturally.”

They share a brief look with one another. After a few seconds, Okuri’s attention turns back to me.

“Mister Gamoun. By all means, please sit down.”

He makes a quick gesture with his right hand. But I pay it no heed.

“Okuri. Did you, or did you not, host members of the White Hands here?”

“Who told you this?”

I ignore Okuri’s question. “I want names. Who are they?”

Munaku smiles. “Don't be scared of telling the truth. Be scared of what Gamoun will do if he discovers you're a liar.”

I continue from where I left off. “To be very specific, I want plausible names. High-ranking members you’ve received in this establishment that could feasibly be involved with something like a Prince’s assassination.”

The wolf-man inhales, looking to the ceiling as he does. “A pen and paper please. I'd like to get this down.”

The boy and girl by Okuri’s sides stand, and searching through a nearby table, return with pen and paper.

He gets to writing immediately, jotting on the low table in front of him.

“Might I make an observation, Gamoun the Gallant?” Okuri continues to write.

“If you desire.”

“You've always struck me as a good-natured man. Brave. Upstanding. At least from the stories I've read.” He pauses. Taking the moment to look up at me. “Tell me: When you see a child weeping, do you feel a pang of pain? An inner sensation created from a vortex of nothing?”

“Yes. Why?”

Okuri stands. Holding the paper in one hand. Matching my stare.

“The eyes are the windows to the soul. And I see in yours a man hurt. Tormented. Let me guess, you want to uncover the truth, don't you? One buried by layers of lies and motives beyond yourself.”

“I strive to do justice by a friend. That is all.”

“I have a feeling you will. No doubt, you've a talent for that. Mediating a great many things with a great many friends.”

He passes the paper to me. I give it a lookover. There is a list of twenty names, each with several additions next to them.

“Best of luck, hero. If I might make one suggestion, it’d be to pay particular attention to a man called Alemi Ai-Patel.”

“And why’s that?” asks Munaku.

“The same reason your master is held in such high esteem. Because of what he might, and has, accomplished. After all, if you’re going to strike at a beast, wouldn’t it be best to aim for the head?”

“Mister Okuri,” I open. “As I understand it, you’re saying this ‘Alemi’ is the leader of the White Hands?”

“Not quite. But he isn’t far off.”

I turn upon my heel and leave. The door shuts behind. A small sound comes from the room; it sounds like conversation. Between Okuri, and his two companions.

“Was it right to do that?” asks a girl's voice.

“It was,” replies Okuri.

“Why?” asks a boy.

“You can't refuse a man like Gamoun. If he wanted, we'd all be broken, and then there'd be nothing to be done. Nothing at all.”