"It is a very uncertain world, and it always has been,
particularly for women. They are like bits of driftwood."

--Genji, The Tale of Genji

 

The back streets of Shimbashi were as safe as any in Tokyo, perhaps safer than some. The high-ranking politicians who frequented the place bent their influence in favor of enlightened self-interest.

So the passing geisha really never had a chance.

 

Yuki whirled around, smashing her bag sharply into the face of one of her assailants. It wasn't heavy, holding only her phone, and she hadn't any weapons on her, complacent idiot that she'd become. Kritiker was gone, its records with it, and she hadn't thought anyone would really find her.

//Ken-san found you,// an inner voice whispered even as she struggled, realizing the futility of fighting in a kimono and zori.

Her eyes skipped wildly and saw no available weapons, only the half-dozen masked figures circled around her.

//I'm sorry,// she thought to her companions in Weiss, to her okaasan at the okiya. So many commitments unfulfilled, so many choices never made. If only she'd chosen a day before, one day, she would be at the Koneko.

Now it seemed she would never choose.

"Namu Amida Butsu," she whispered, knowing her fate. It was to go down trying, as the rest of Kritiker had done.

//I can never escape.//

"Namu Amida Butsu."

//Magician is always here.//

"Namu Amida Butsu."

//So come and take me on.//

Outnumbered, outweaponed, and knowing her time was up, she threw herself into one final fight, the prayer falling from her lips like a never-ending mantra.

"Namu Amida Butsu."

 

Lady Killer 11 -- Kitaku (Homecoming) 2
by K.Huntsman
released 31st January 2003

 

The ground around her was littered with cooling, lifeless bodies by the time Akayuki came back to herself. Eyes wide and senses hypertuned, it took a dizzying moment before she was sure again of her footing and the world around her.

//Spinning,// she thought, and took off running.

 

"Hello, Kitten in the House--" Omi answered the phone before he was cut short by a familiar voice demanding

"Omi-san? Is everything all right there?" Yuki sounded like she was running.

"We're fine here. Has something happened?" At the work table Ken and Youji both glanced up.

"Men. Dressed all in black. Like ninjas from a drama or something. Here in Shimbashi. They know where I am, Omi-san."

There were no customers, and it was Momoe-san's day off. "La Mort," Omi said openly, the name sounding more than half like a curse word as it left his mouth. Youji stiffened and Ken stood, his chair scraping back.

"I'm on my way back to the Yamabuki," Akayuki reported. "If they caught me in an alley, they've probably tried there as well."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked. "We can come pick you up."

She was silent for a minute and all he heard were the sounds of shoes on the ground and fabrics moving against one another.

"Omi-san," she finally said, "I killed six men not ten minutes ago. If they know where I am, my okaasan is in danger. If she's still alive, I have to protect her. I can take care of myself, and she is my responsibility." A soft breath. "I have to go now. I'll call you back when I can."

 

The Seven's tires had never screeched so loudly as they did on the way to Shimbashi.

When the door of the Yamabuki was slammed open by the three assassins, the teahouse was nearly silent. Only soft sobs broke the peace.

Omi signalled for silence and led the way, creeping down the hardwood hallway on noiseless feet. Peering around the kitchen door, he blinked in surprise, then relaxed, pushing his way in, through the hanging curtains. Ken and Youji followed curiously.

Akayuki knelt calmly on the floor, eyes tracking the three of them as they entered the kitchen. Sobbing in her arms was, Omi assumed, her okaasan.

Omi blinked.

"Sakaki-san?" he asked in surprise.

Around them were scattered corpses and the cooking implements they'd been killed with. The bloodflow was copious. Rice crunched beneath Omi's feet.

Ouka's mother looked up and her eyes were wide as she recognized him. "Tsukiyono-kun?"

Akayuki moved away, releasing the woman he now realized must be the okaasan of her teahouse into Omi's hands. She buried her head in his arms as though they could shut out the death and violence that had happened in her home.

"Yuki, did you--" Youji asked. Ken was staring fixedly at the corpses, though he came out of it a little, Omi noticed, when Yuki moved into his arms.

"No," the woman replied, shaking her head. "I didn't."

"If not you," Ken murmured, still a bit distant, "then who?"

 

Looking at them, there was no way of telling, Ran thought, what they did for a living. There was no outward sign that they were anything other than friends and coworkers at a flowershop. There were no insignias or signs, no marks or ritual scars to indicate they were assassins and murderers. Nothing hinted that Omi/Mamoru bore the mark of Cain, or that Youji had strangled his lover to death, or that Ken had murdered his own best friend... or that Ran had cheated in a sword match and shot his mentor with a gun. There was no mark at all, until someone who could see looked into their eyes.

It was a sign the innocent could not read, he suspected. Aya never seemed to notice it. He supposed he once wouldn't have either. But he could now look at his fellow killers and see himself reflected in their eyes.

Guilt. Pain. Emptiness. Insanity. No hope.

//This murderer that I am....//

Even Akayuki, who of them all was the newest to this life of unending sin, who had never had to betray blood or sworn breath, bore those shadows in her eyes. They were the mark of the Fallen.

Ran doubted that even Omi could use four broken murderers to build his proposed information-based Kritiker. Information alone was insufficient to stop evil. Only direct action was enough effort to yield that result. But therein was the great paradox. To stop the darkness, you had to become dark yourself. In becoming evil, how was it possible to stop evil? So somehow Omi had to be right. Ran just couldn't see how.

"Oniichan?"

He looked up from the arrangement of "Akikonomu's Garden" he was creating to see his sister chewing on her pen cap. "Yes?"

"Can you check this?" she asked. "The weekly shipment shouldn't be this much but I can't find the mistake."

He set down the branch of dwarf maple he held in his right hand and reached for the clipboard. Scanning through the sheet, he found the mistake. "You added the asters twice."

"Aha!" Aya snatched the clipboard back, pouncing on the correction. He looked at her, so full of life. For her, the two years she'd spent in a coma might never have happened.

"Aya," he said softly.

"Hmm?"

"Are you happy?"

She looked up at that. "What do you mean?"

"Wouldn't you...." His tongue failed him and he cast about for what he wanted to say. "You wanted to go to nursing school." He could afford it, now, her dream. His blood money would pay for it, pay for the best school in the country. In the world. Somewhere far away from him, somewhere safe for him and for her....

He couldn't stand to think of her leaving him again, but having his sister, so good, so innocent, so pure, so close to him was killing him somehow. He could feel things twisting and cracking open inside his chest. He tightened down on them, trying for expressionlessness and calm.

"Oniichan." Aya dragged up a stool. It scraped across the floor as she pulled it. Perching on it, she faced him, skirt demure across her legs. "Is this why you've been so moody ever since you came back? Because you think I'm not happy?"

Ran blinked. He hadn't thought he was being moody. "No," he answered. "But you can't be happy like this. You wanted to do something with your life, you said."

"Honestly. This isn't 'doing something'?" she asked. "Taking care of you and Kudou-san and Hidaka-san and Tsukiyono-san is certainly important! Besides." She settled back down onto her stool. "What people want can change, Oniichan." Primly Aya stood and smoothed her skirt with an appalling maturity Ran could not remember her possessing, then went again to the storeroom. His eyes fell back to the arrangement, even as his thoughts tumbled, confused, over one another.

He felt the sudden urge to describe his sister in the creation of an arrangement of "Murasaki's Garden."

 

Omi sighed in frustration and moved the keyboard aside. Then he hit his head a few times on the surface of his desk.

"Something wrong?" Youji asked.

Omi blew his bangs back and straightened. "I can't find Schwartz anywhere," he replied.

"Worried that we don't know where the psychos are?"

"No, actually I was thinking of getting in contact with them," Omi replied. Youji bolted upright. Omi was unable to supress the smirk that crossed his face at Youji's look.

"Have you gone out of your mind?" the man demanded. "They want our blood!"

Omi shrugged and turned back to the computer. "Maybe they did, but I'm not convinced. I mean, they always knew where we were, right? So why not just have their telekinetic cause a gas leak one night while we were all sleeping, and be rid of us?" Omi shook his head. "There's more to them than just that."

Youji groaned and the springs of the sofa squeaked. "Great. Now I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight."

"If we're in danger and being attacked by La Mort," Omi continued his reasoning, "if they're still in the country, they're either working with La Mort, which doesn't feel at all like their style--they're too independent--or they're in similar danger. It's not unreasonable to want to form an alliance."

"Do you really think Ran will go for that?" Youji asked.

Omi shrugged. "Probably not. But it's worth a shot."

The door to the Underground creaked open and a pair of geta came slowly down the stairs, trailed by running shoes which trod far more quietly but no less recognizeably on the metal steps.

"Back so soon?" Youji asked, still lazing on the couch behind Omi.

"I found the parasol I wanted pretty quickly," Akayuki retorted. "I feel sorry for the Fujimiyas, having to run the shop themselves while you lay about."

"I'm working," Omi defended himself from the indirect criticism. "Youji-kun, however...."

"Is attempting to solve your dilemma, Omitchi."

Omi rolled his eyes and input another search parameter.

"Dilemma?" Akayuki questioned.

"He's trying to find Schwartz," Youji replied. "Are you sure they haven't just left the country, Omi?"

"They're here," Magician said, sounding surprised. "They're still doing that bodyguarding politicians thing."

Omi twisted to face the geisha. "Bodyguarding who?"

"Cabinet Member Ichizawa," she replied. "He's one of my regular customers. Either Crawford-san or Schuldich-san tends to come with him to the teahouse."

"'-SAN'?" Youji demanded, sounding as incredulous as Omi felt at a member of their team giving an enemy that honorific.

Her face assumed a cast that gave both of them pause, reminding them that Yuki was not just a friend, but a geisha, a mysterious and cultured creature who was even now dressed in kimono. She was unknowable. "They've done me no harm. We have a mutual understanding in our 'now' roles."

"You're safe?" Ken asked, speaking for the first time, touching Yuki-chan on the arm from behind. She turned to face him, the aloof geisha mask softening.

"I would never accept Ichizawa-san as a customer if I did not feel safe in the presence of his bodyguards, Ken-san," she replied. "Even now that I have my own bodyguard." She smiled at him and Omi wanted to look away, but did not, as Ken brought her hand to his cheek and held it there.

He owed it to Ken to watch, and to guard.

To be sure that Kritiker never reduced another agent to this....

Akayuki spoke softly, her words directed to Omi. "If you want to meet with them, you'd do well to seek out Ichizawa-san, Omi-san. He might even be a valuable political connection, as I believe he's not entirely unaware of the abilities of the bodyguards he's hired."

 

The house where the kittens live.

An Omi-kitty, a Ken-kitty, a Youji-kitty, and an Aya-kitty.

In the house next door lived a snowbird.

Then came the storm that blew the bird from her nest and injured two of the kittens. It took a long time for the bird to find her way back home and longer for the kittens to heal. But the storm still raged and the kittens alone could not find the place where it ended. So the littlest kitten asked the bird to fly to the neighborhood pack of dogs to ask for help.

 

"Mister Crawford."

Bradley stopped and turned to his right. There, as expected, collected and dressed in a sober white blouse and long gray skirt, stood the Magician.

"Miss Shirayuki," he responded cordially. He had already cleared his schedule for this meeting.

"Bombay has requested an interview with you. I am to be your escort." Her English accent was light and charming, not at all the stilted awkwardness Crawford had come to expect of the Japanese when they attempted to address him in his own language.

"After you," he said, with a gesture for her to lead the way. She arched an eloquent eyebrow, amused by his lack of surprise, no doubt, and walked down the steps towards the busy sidewalk.

"You don't speak English like a Japanese," he observed after walking with her for half a block. "But I can't place your accent."

She did not turn her head to reply, but her pace slowed a fraction. "My stepmother was British." And that explained the melifluent accent.

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" he asked on a hunch.

"Meine Deutsch is sehr schlect," she replied. "I am unfortunately bad with languages."

He thought then of Schuldich, whose gift rendered any language barrier irrelevant. And he thought of the Siberian, whose specialty in Weiss seemed to be linguistics.

"Do you know that I pity you?" the Magician asked, jolting Bradley from his thoughts. She walked on beside him, as cool and distant as a mirage, untouchable.

"Pity?" he inquired, curious. "Because I am a killer?"

"No," she replied, finally looking at him. Her eyes were sad. "We've all chosen that path. I pity you because you lack the ability to be surprised." She turned right, into the doorway of a cafe. They were less than two blocks from where they had met, and Bradley Crawford, American entrepeneur and assassin, nexus of time, followed the young woman, blinking. Never before had his gift been compared to a handicap.

 

Omi closed his laptop as the blue dot that was the Magician approached the cafe. He was doing a dangerous thing, and knew it, in this meeting with the Oracle. It was for that reason that Ken, Youji, and Ran were all back at the flower shop and only Yuki was with him as backup. Omi didn't want his invitation to be seen as coming from a place of desperation nor for the American to feel a sense of coercion. Therefore it was only the two of them, the innocuous ones, who were present. Assuming Crawford's foresight hadn't already set up a trap for them, Omi thought presenting the man with "the kid and the woman," as Schuldich had once contemptuously referred to them, might work. Taking a sip of the Oolong tea Akayuki had recommended to him, Omi looked up as the door opened and his agent entered, followed by his enemy.

He rose as the pair drew close to the table, standing courteously before the man who'd more than once tried to kill him and his friends. Omi'd been pleased when he'd finally hit a late growth spurt; for one thing, although he was no taller than Ken, it meant that he was at least no longer the shortest member of Weiss.

For another, it gave him a certain psychological advantage when facing his enemies in a more civilized arena than that to which they had previously been accustomed.

"Mister Takatori," Crawford greeted him with a bow.

"Mister Crawford," Omi replied with a bow of his own, noting the name the other man chose to use. "Please, have a seat." He gestured at the chairs. Akayuki took one to Omi's left, Crawford one that faced the two of them. The waitress approached and polite orders were given for teas, jasmine on the part of the Magician and Earl Grey on the part of the Oracle.

"I must admit," the man said, "I had not expected you to approach us so soon. We'd thought not to see you again on business until you entered the political arena."

"Events seem to necessitate the contact," Omi replied.

Crawford nodded as the tea arrived. "The trouble in Shimbashi." He glanced at Akayuki. "My employer was deeply distressed. Your... unknown savior... however, seems to have vanished without a trace."

"Lieutenant Kouichi was of the same opinion," she replied blandly.

"Mister Ichizawa wishes to return to Shimbashi, as do many others. But this latest incident has stirred fear in the government about attending parties in the district, you must understand."

"Thus this meeting," the implacable geisha replied.

Crawford smiled at that, a thin curving of his lips, before returning his attention to Omi. "Do you intend to eventually follow in the footsteps of your father's political career now that you have been safely reunited with your long-lost grandfather, Mister Takatori?" he inquired.

That cut. Omi struggled not to show it. Because the father Crawford referred to was not his real father, not Persia, not Takatori Shuuichi who had raised him and made him an assassin, tool of justice, but rather Takatori Reiji, the man who had been married to his mother. It was a secret Omi held close to his heart, an issue about which he was uncertain. Not even the other members of Weiss knew yet.

Crawford's calling him by his birth name was no sign of respect.

"Perhaps in some respects, perhaps not in others," Omi cadged. "Immediately, however, there are certain other problems which need to be dealt with."

The American sipped his tea. "True. The organization you speak of has been a minor irritation to us as well. I assume you propose a temporary alliance?"

"I believe it's in both of our interests." Omi didn't want to seem too desperate.

Crawford leaned back. "And if our compliance came at a price?"

"It would depend upon the price." Schwartz were mercenaries. Perhaps their loyalty could be bought. Though how far could Omi trust that purchased faith?

"Schuldich wanted me to ask for a night with your Abyssinian. Not that he prefers men, to my knowledge, but just to see the look on your faces. Farfarello requested permission to tear out your wings. Nagi named a rather outrageous sum. Toto has her heart set on learning how to dance from a real geisha."

Omi didn't know whether to smile at the man's bland recitement of the wishes or to be appalled at some of the content. "And you?"

"The alliance will be convenient," Crawford replied. He finished his tea and stood. "Call it a ceasefire until the third party is removed, Mister Takatori. As a token of goodwill: one of La Mort's captains made a rather impressive albeit unsuccessful attempt at aborting Schuldich's existence. He left her alive, though with diminished troops." His gaze shifted to the Magician. "He said beneath her mask her face was familiar. In fact, he didn't realize you hadn't switched teams until he went through her mind later."

Omi glanced at Akayuki. Her face was calm, but the right hand that rested on the handle of her teacup shook just the slightest bit. A single ripple ringed across the surface of the liquid. She spoke slowly. "My sister is dead, Mister Crawford."

"Apparently not." He bent over, picked up his briefcase. "We won't be in touch."

The geisha's control was fully back in place the next time Omi glanced at Akayuki.

 

"Youji-kun," Omi said, curious, "is there any reason why you're in my room on a Friday night?"

"Nothing to do," Youji replied. "Trying to get rid of me?"

"No," Omi said, shaking his head. "Just... this isn't like you at all. You haven't been out on a date in weeks. Is something wrong? You're not sick, are you?"

"Sickness measured in personality or in physicality?" the older man asked with a grin. That faded as he realized Omi was being serious. "There's nothing wrong with me, Omitchi. I just don't feel like going out."

"Youji-kun," Omi said, then hesitated, not sure if he was being too intrusive. But he didn't think he was, so he went on. "Have you finally realized that you can't replace her in other women?"

Once that would have rated a physical flinch, or at least a quick, angry denial. Now Youji just seemed sad and in pain about it. "I think maybe that's it," he said softly. "I think that's what she wanted me to learn. That I'm not meant for any woman after her."

They were skirting dark territory here, Omi sensed, so he searched for a quip to break Youji away from the melancholy the man sank into whenever he had to think about himself. "Does that mean you're turning to men, then, Youji-kun?" Omi asked, eyes wide, affecting surprised innocence. "I didn't think Ran-kun swung that way."

Youji blinked. "Omi, you--!" he spat, reacting like hydrochloric acid with water. Omi couldn't help but laugh. At that, Youji's eyes softened and he smiled. "Ran's cute," he admitted, "but really not my style."

"Here I thought you liked redheads," Omi played along.

"Ahhhh, Manx," Youji reminisced. "Such a beautiful woman. With such style and grace."

"Who never once succumbed to your charms," Omi reminded him.

"Every woman has a flaw, Omi. It only makes their appeal and allure greater."

 

For as far back as his memories had stretched for many years, Omi had lived a double life, a student by day and an assassin by night. He found dividing his mind and time that way a comfortable pattern. He multi-tasked even in class, his mind frequently on his real job even while supposedly studying subjects far below his attention and skill level, things that he'd learned years before.

In addition to disenfranchisement, Kritiker seemed to have made genius a priorum for its recruits.

So it was that his studies at Tokyo University actually made up the lesser part of his life. At night and on weekends, at least half of which were spent with his grandfather, Omi concentrated on rebuilding Kritiker, gleaning every last bit of information he could out of the databases to which his access was now absolute, and, more importantly, from the memories and contacts of his grandfather.

His promise to the old man that he'd marry and carry on the family line seemed to have done some good in that regard. Omi intended to keep that promise as soon as he found a suitable woman with whom he could feel comfortable spending the rest of his life. But he was by no means eager to be the first member of Weiss to drink the three sips of sake. He had too much he needed to do first.

But with the assurance of that promise, Takatori Saijou seemed to have softened toward Omi's choice of allies and had even come out of retirement, quickly introducing Omi to members of the Diet, and, even more importantly, all the behind the scenes figures who actually ran the nation.

So it was that one night Omi, as Mamoru, found himself inside a teahouse with his grandfather and a few others. Among them was Cabinet Member Ichizawa. Omi had caught a glimpse of Schuldich upon arrival, but the telepath hadn't said anything to him. The terms of the ceasefire apparently included ignoring one another.

"Please excuse me." A fusama slid open and a trio of geisha bowed in unison, then entered the room in the order of their rank.

Omi blinked, startled, as he recognized the most junior of the three.

 

Ken stared moodily across the hall at Schuldich. The telepath, damn him, seemed amused.

 

Author's Scribbling: The wonders of the National Geographic channel. They show programs on geisha which prompt me to finish chapters! The threads I'm weaving in this second part of Kitaku will hopefully be resolved in part three, though they may or may not stretch out into a four. I'm not entirely sure that things aren't going too quickly here. Opinions? I really do pick up from N-chan's work in this chapter, especially "Catch Me" in that Ken's gone off the deep end and is starting to come back (maybe soon he'll be less catatonic; let's see what Schuldich prompts him to) and in that Omi's rebuilding the new Kritiker. I've definitely followed Natalie's lead about how Omi takes the other three in hand; there's no way I could have figured out how he might corral them! I also had to get Saijou into this somehow; he's a powerful man, and a really cool character. As to where this chapter ends... well, I want to see how things happen when Akayuki and Omi meet in their other roles as the geisha Shirayuki and the young politician Takatori Mamoru and can't acknowledge that they know one another.

The flower arrangements Ran is working on and thinking about, Akikonomu's Garden and Murasaki's Garden, are references to The Tale of Genji. During the middle third of the book, the main character, Prince Genji, builds a large estate and moves the most important women in his life there, each with her own quadrant whose gardens are based on a season. Akikonomu (named for her garden: "she who loves autumn" is a decent translation), who is more or less Genji's foster daughter and one of his proteges, lives in the autumn area when she is not at the palace with her husband, Genji's nephew, one of the four emperors who reigns through the tale. Murasaki (whose name means purple, or lavendar), the great love of Genji's wife and arguably the most ideal woman in the book, resides in the spring quadrant. As in the west, autumn in Japanese culture has overtones of dying or fading away while spring is young and beautiful.

Something's definitely happening with Ran in regards to Aya's presence in his life, while Youji's love life is close to rock bottom. Then there's Akayuki's murderous double in the ranks of La Mort, as well as Sakaki-san's mysterious savior. How does this all come together? Find out in the next chapter!

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